


My Heart In Your Hands

by StardustAndTeacups



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fulff, Hurt/Comfort, Season 5 AU, Smut, bunker!fic, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-02-03 17:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndTeacups/pseuds/StardustAndTeacups
Summary: "Abby's body twitches beside him, the movement so slight that he would have never noticed it if she wasn’t pressed so close against him. Marcus feels the rhythm of her breathing gradually pick up the pace. The slow and deep breathing being replaced with short intakes of air and staggering exhales. She’s waking up."A Kabby bunker fic that will have Abby's brain damage as a main focus (because apparently it's not important enough to be dealt with on the actual show... Fingers crossed for season 5 though!). It picks up right after the end of season 4.This will be angsty, but our babies love each other and I do not intend to change that in any way! It's more of a "dealing with shit as the powerful unit of love and support that they are" kind of angst (if that makes any sense).Also, fluff and smut will happen! It's not all bad ;)





	1. Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Wow okay, so I'm super excited to actually be posting this! I've had it in mind for months but haven't had the time to actually write out any chapters, but here we go!
> 
> I am constantly blown away by the talent in the kabby fandom! There are so many wonderful and talented people out there making awesome fics and edits and I'm just glad to be able to contribute something as well. 
> 
> This is nothing major, but I hope you enjoy it!  
> _________________
> 
> Also, MASSIVE thanks to Lore (AO3: donnawanderedoff / Tumblr: abbygkane) for taking the time to help me with the final touches of this chapter! (you should totally check out her fics if you haven't already)

Marcus slowly closes the door behind him, before letting the back of his head rest against it. A tired sigh escapes his lips as he looks across the room to the bed where Abby lies. She is still knocked out by the gas and s hasn’t moved from the position he placed her in after carrying her from the hall to what was going to be her home for the next five years. Or rather _their home,_ if she could ever forgive him.

All around them, their people are slowly waking up, but Abby is still sound asleep. _Any moment now,_ he thinks with a slight hint of trepidation. There’s no telling to how she’s going to react, and he is not quite sure that he’s ready to deal with the consequences of what he has done. She looks so peaceful while asleep, but he knows that will change the second she opens her eyes. Slowly he can feel the exhaustion taking a hold of his body. Eyeing the empty spot beside her, Marcus contemplates for a second, but in the end his exhaustion wins out. Besides, Abby shouldn’t be alone when she wakes up.

With a sigh, Marcus moves towards the bed and lies down next to her. He rolls onto his side while resting his head in his left hand so he can gaze at her. A single strand of hair has fallen in front of her eyes and he can’t stop his free hand from reaching out to brush it back to where it belongs. Her hair shines almost golden in the soft light of the room.

Suddenly Abby stirs in her sleep, subconsciously moving her body closer against his. His hand in her hair stills at the movement, but she doesn’t seem to be waking up. After waiting for a heartbeat, just to make sure she’s not awake, he returns his hand to her hair while letting his fingers stroke it and tucking stray locks behind her ear.

She is so beautiful like this. All calm and at peace, no worried lines marking her features, no tense muscles burdening her neck or her back. The way her hand is resting under her head while the other is propped up beside her makes him yearn to take it in his own and never let it go. But now, knowing that she might never forgive him, knowing that he might have lost her forever by saving her life, is enough to evoke the sharp sting of tears in his eyes.

They _just_ found each other and now he may already have lost her again. And this time to an enemy, he can’t defeat: _Himself._

His hand stops its movement as he draws it up to wipe a stray tear falling from his eye. _It was the right thing to do,_ he tells himself. He had to save her, not just because he needed her like he needs air, not just because he depended on her and saw no future without her, but because she was important, and not _just_ to him but to all of them. She is the best medic they have, not to mention the only person in the bunker who was a fully trained surgeon. He simply had to save, otherwise who knows how many people could die during these five years?

At least that’s what he tells himself, but even he knows that at the heart of it, his decision was fuelled just as much by his selfish need to have her by his side and keep her safe.

Abby’s body twitches beside him, the movement so slight that he would have never noticed it if she wasn’t pressed so close against him. Marcus feels the rhythm of her breathing gradually pick up the pace. The slow and deep breathing being replaced with short intakes of air and staggering exhales. She’s waking up.

His whole body tenses up, not a single muscle in his body dares to move. As she opens her eyes, Abby slowly takes in the room before turning her gaze towards him. This is the moment he’s been dreading. The moment where their eyes will meet and hers will be filled with disappointment. But instead he sees the exact opposite.

Her eyes are dazed, and her face is showing an expression of contentment mixed with a slight hint of confusion. The corners of her lips twitch slightly, as if she’s trying to form a weak smile while looking up at him.

“Marcus?”

The way her face lights up at him when she whispers his name takes him completely by surprise and he doesn’t know how to react. All this time he had been preparing himself for her anger and disappointment, but now she is smiling up at him like she couldn’t possibly be happier to see him.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” she says, her voice sounding oddly worried, “Did something happen to you?” He struggles to make sense of her words; why wasn’t he supposed to be here, why should anything have happened to him? He doesn’t know what to say so he just stares at her.

“I was supposed to die alone, and you were supposed to let me,” she sounds angry now, as he had expected.

“I-, I’m sorry I just-” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“You weren’t supposed to die too,” she trails off, “You were supposed to live, to guide Octavia, to guide our people!” _Die too,_ he is back to being confused, why would she think he was dead when he was right here with her? Unless… she thought _she_ was dead. Unless she thought that he had died with her and that they had somehow woken up together in some kind of afterlife.

 _Of course_.

And suddenly the tears are back, stinging in his eyes and threatening to fall. “I’m sorry, I’m so, _so_ sorry,” he croaks, his voice trembling with emotion as the tears slowly begin to spill from his eyes.

Her face changes, “Marcus, what’s going on?” Now it’s her turn to look confused, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” She lets her left hand reach up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing his tears away.

“I couldn’t let you die,” he whispers. He closes his eyes while leaning into her touch, but as soon as his words reach her ears she _knows._ Her hand instantly falls from his face and she sits up, hurriedly moving across the bed, away from him. He moves to sit as well, burying his face in his hands, trying desperately to stop the tears from falling.

“Marcus, tell me you didn’t…” her voice falters as she stands to look around the room and seeing the bunker sigil on the wall. She lets out a dejected breath, before turning to face him.

“Why?” her voice is stern and cold, and she is making no effort to conceal her disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, not knowing what else to say because he knows that she has every right to be angry with him.

“I promised her...” His voice trails off, she is glaring at him, her eyes so hard and devoid of any emotion that it makes him go cold to the bone. She just stands there, quietly, in disbelief. The seconds are ticking away, and it feels like an eternity has passed when she finally opens her mouth.

“You think it is all up to you. That all those _big_ decisions are just awaiting _your_ verdict. And then you just comply and let yourself _play_ _god_? How can you think that you have _any_ _right_ to toy with people that way?! How can you think you have any right to toy with _me_ that way? You don’t have the right to decide who lives and who dies! You can think it is up to you to bear the weight of the world all you want, but it gives you _no right_ to make decisions like this!”

Her words hit him like a knife to the heart, settling in his chest with a sharp pain, echoing in his mind until they are all he can hear.

“I told you to let me go Marcus,” she continues, she still hasn’t moved, standing beside the bed with her arms crossed defensively over her chest. Her face bears a dark mask, hiding any sentiment that might try to seep through. He’s helpless and broken, he hears every word she says and lets them break him into a thousand pieces and all he can do is mutter, “I’m sorry”.

“How could you betray me like that?” she asks quietly, only a faint hint of her own held emotion audible in her voice. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be here,” she pauses and he can almost _feel_ her eyes drilling into his wretched body.

“I was supposed to be _dead._ ”

She then falls silent while her words settle down, filling the whole room. After what feels like an eternity, Marcus finally breaks the silence.

“I promised Clarke to keep you safe,” his voice is hoarse, barely a whisper; the voice of a broken man. “She made me promise before she left. She made me vow to protect you if she didn’t make it back. And now she’s -” his words trail off.

“No,” Abby gasps, and just like that her façade crumbles and she stumbles backwards, bracing a hand against a desk behind her. “They didn’t make it back?” Abby’s voice breaks as the words fall from her lips. “Clarke didn’t make it? I-,” She takes a heaving breath, “I sent her to her death.” She collapses in the desk chair; her eyes are wide with tears welling up and falling from her eyes in a steady stream. He can see how the panic runs through her body and makes her hands tremble and her knees buckle.

“Abby, no! No, no, no, she’s not dead.” His voice is insistent, _she can’t think that her daughter is dead!_ But from the way he body continues to shudder while long cries tear their way out of her broken heart and fill the air, he can tell she doesn’t hear him.

“Hey Abby, shh, hey listen to me” He desperately tries to get her attention, but he is still on the bed, too far away from her and she does not want to listen.

“Abby!” he raises his voice finally getting her attention. “She’s okay,” he needs her to hear him. “She’s okay,” he says again, lowering his voice, seeing that he has caught her attention.

“Octavia said Clarke made it to the island with the others, but they didn’t have enough time to get back before the radiation wave hit.” His voice is soft and steady, as he tries to calm her down, “Raven found a way to use the spaceship in Becca’s lab to get them back to the Ark. Bellamy said the Ring would be able to sustain them,” he explains.

“They will be alright” he says reassuringly. “Clarke will be alright.”

“She is okay?” she can barely speak, her voice strained from crying.

“Yes, Clarke is fine.”

“You talked to them? To Clarke?” she asks, her voice still trembling.

“No, Octavia did, to Bellamy, but we lost the signal when the wave hit”. He can almost see her heart breaking, yet again, in her chest – _she didn’t get to say goodbye to her daughter_.

“I’m sorry”, is all he can say. He has said those words so many times today that they were beginning to form on their own, his brain automatically spitting them out as his default answer to everything.

“This is my fault,” The words escape as a breath from her mouth.

“I let her go. I knew the risk and I didn’t stop her,” she continues with tears welling up in her eyes as she says the words.

“Abby,” his voice is soft, even though he is broken and knows that he has lost her, he still feels the need to reassure her that everything will be okay. “She’s with Bellamy and Raven, they will take care of her. By now the radiation will have reached the lab and they will be safely on the Ark.” He is desperate to make her see that it’s okay, that Clarke is strong and that she’ll be safe with her friends no matter what.

Abby hides her face in her hands as she cries. Her body is tensing up, relaxing and tensing up again. She’s shaking violently while devastating sobs roll through her body.

He moves to go to her side, but briefly stops in his tracks since he’s not sure if she will welcome his touch. But she looks so small and fragile, so _vulnerable,_ that he can’t possibly stand by and watch as she shatters before his eyes.

Two long steps and he is beside her. He lets himself glide down and take place on the floor in front of her. Ever so hesitant, Marcus lifts his arms to wrap them around her. He moves slowly, making sure he isn’t overstepping her boundaries, but as soon as his arms reach her, she dissolves into his embrace, sliding down from the chair and settling on the floor against his chest. He hugs her close to his chest while pressing a gentle kiss on the top of her head as his fingers slide through her hair.

He stays there while she cries, feeling the sobs wrack through her body. After a while, her breathing starts to slow down as her body relaxes.

“We need you Abby,” he says, while plating another kiss to the crown of her head and letting out a long breath.

“ _I_ need you.”

He then moves to stand, but she grabs a hold of his arm and her small, insistent hand holds him in place.

“Marcus,” she says her voice but a quiet whisper, “Don’t leave me.” And all he can do is sit back down and take her in his arms.

“I won’t. Not ever” he promises, and she clings to him with all her might, but he can feel how exhausted she is. The effects of the gas are still affecting her body and it’s making her limbs feel heavy. Hugging her tight, Marcus moves onto his knees so he can scoop her small body into his arms.

“What are you doing?” She mumbles, her voice low and drowsy.

“Getting you into bed. You need to rest, and my knees can’t take being in this position for much longer.” He lays her down on the bed on top of the covers. “Thank you,” she murmurs peeking through her sleepy eyes. “And I’m sorry… for what I said. I didn’t mean it,” she continues and goes quiet for a moment, then: “Well, not all of it.” He sinks down beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I know I betrayed you,” he says with a heavy heart, “I shouldn’t have done that, but I just… I couldn’t let them take you. They were carrying the people out and they were going to take you too. I couldn’t let you _die_.”

“What happened?” she pushes herself to sit leaning against the headboard, “I can’t remember. Why don’t I remember anything?” He can see the fear in her eyes, _what happened to their people?_

“People were angry, most of them ready to fight the moment the door would open. But we didn’t stand a chance, I had to stop it,” he pauses, the reality of what he’s done is still clear in the forefront of his mind.

Closing his eyes, Marcus takes a deep breath to calm himself, but as soon as his eyes fall closed the image of hundreds of scorched bodies piled up around the opening to the bunker flare up in his mind. It’s a sight he will carry with him for the rest of his life.

“We used the gas and the list,” he sees as her face falls, and watches how visibly her heart breaks for him when she realises what he has done. She moves to rest her head against his shoulder as he continues:

 “I didn’t know what else to do. I… I couldn’t let them fight, we would have all been killed, all of us.”

“You did the right thing,” she tilts her head and presses a soft kiss against the fabric of his shirt.

“Did I? So many people died.”

“You did,” she says, and he almost believes it. _Almost._

“Hey,” she wraps her hands around his, “There was no good choice. It’s nothing like last time,” it’s as if she’s reading his mind, even when she’s half-awake, she knows him better than he will ever know himself.

“You don’t have to carry the guilt alone, I won’t let you.” At this his eyes begin to sting again, new tears welling up. He clears his throat to suppress them, not wanting to cry when she is the one who has just lost all contact with her daughter for the next five years, not when he should be the one comforting her.

“You should get some sleep,” he states and moves to leave her alone in her room.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she says, her voice resolute. “I told you not to leave me and you said you wouldn’t. This room is surely big enough for two people and this bed is too big to sleep in alone.” Her words are clear, the strain of tears gone from her voice and he thinks he can almost hear a faint smile as she says: “If we could share a room in Polis for nine days, I think we can make do with this for the next five years.”

Her words cause a light twitch at the corner of his mouth as he remembers what in hindsight, has been their only time together where no one was in immediate, life-threatening danger. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters under his breath before taking his boots off. He then moves towards the dresser besides the bed and grabbing a pair of grey pajama bottoms making his way to the small adjacent bathroom.

 

* * *

 

When Marcus re-enters the room, Abby is still sitting on the side of the bed, but her dirty clothes lie in a neatly folded pile on the desk. Her shoulders are slumped over and she’s holding something in her hand. He moves over the bed and settles behind her back looking over her shoulder.

It’s a photo of a child, Clarke of course. He immediately recognises her from the blonde hair and hands covered in finger paint. She can’t be more than three sitting on a table in their quarters on the Ark. Several pieces of paper are spread out beneath her, all of them covered in colourful drawings of the sun and the stars, the moon and the earth, and on her face, is the biggest smile he has ever seen on a child her size. The curve of her lips stretches from one cheek to the other revealing her little teeth, her eyes barely visible as she smiles.

It’s a happy picture he thinks and smiles to himself but when his hands come up to brush against Abby’s shoulders he feels her shudder. She is crying, again, but this time it’s silent like she couldn’t hold the tears back even if she wanted to. And so, she lets them fall steadily down her face.

“She’s gone Marcus, I _just_ got her back and now I’ve lost her all over again,” she whispers, slowly leaning into his touch.

He wants to tell her that everything is going to be okay, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. She has lost her daughter, not to anything as permanent as death, but they will be separated for the next five years with no way of communicating.

“I know,” is all he can say, but when he moves so he can look at her face, seeing the lost expression that is holding her beautiful features captive, he continues. “Abby, we have to believe that she is safe, that all of them are. Clarke is a smart girl and Bellamy and Raven won’t let anything happen to her.” He plants light kisses across her bare shoulders, “We will never get through these years if we don’t believe that.” He brushes away her hair kissing her neck while his hands move soothingly up her arms and start massaging her back. She tilts her head, giving him better access while letting a long, relaxed breath escape her as his hands ease the tension in her muscles.

He continues his firm strokes and light touches until she stops crying, then with a soft sigh she turns to face him. Her eyes are wide and her lashes damp from her tears. She takes his face in her hands and rests her forehead against his.

“Thank you,” her voice trembles, “I can’t do this without you.”

“You won't have to,” he pauses taking her hands from his face to hold them in his, “I'm right here. I'll always be right here.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, faintly tasting the traces of her tears.

“But now, you really should get some rest,” Marcus says, “The gas hasn’t entirely left your system.”

Lifting the sheets, he lets her crawl beneath them.

“Promise you won’t leave?” her voice is fragile, but this time because she’s exhausted and not because she is fighting back tears.

“I’ll stay right here,” he promises while moving to lie down and letting her cuddle up against him.

“I’m right here,” he whispers again as he kisses the top of her head, holding her close.


	2. A Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy look who finally got her shit together... Sorry it's been so long, school has been hectic as all hell so I have barely had any time to write, but to make up for it this chapter is a bit longer :)

A loud knock on the door startles Abby awake. She barely has the time to comprehend what’s happening, before eight or so grounders are surrounding their bed. Alarmed, she sits up while reaching out to wake Marcus, but his hand quickly finds hers; _of course, he’s awake too_. Her other hand grabs the sheets as she tries to cover herself. She’s wearing nothing but her underwear, and the looks she’s getting from the leather-clad grounders make her feel exposed to say the least.

“What is this?” she asks, her voice hoarse and groggy from the first long-nights-sleep she’s had in quite a while. Marcus’ hand squeezes her own under the covers as he sends her a nervous glance. This is not exactly how they had imagined their first morning in the bunker together.

“I told you this wouldn’t be necessary, Indra.” Octavia’s voice cuts through the wall of grounders. “You can go wait outside. Now!” Octavia commands. When the grounders hesitate, she continues: “I don’t need an armed security detail for this, trust me. I just need to talk to them.” Her voice is calm but powerful; the voice of a Commander. “Go. Wait. Outside.” She reiterates, “They’re not dangerous, they’re confused and barely dressed. I’ll be _fine._ ”

Slowly, the grounders file out of the room leaving the three of them in silence. When all the grounders have left their room, Octavia makes her way in, followed by Indra, and by the look on Marcus’ face as he exchanges glances with Indra, Abby knows that he would rather stand half naked in front of half a dozen strange grounders, than in front of Indra kom Trikru.

“So, what’s going on?” Abby asks again, this time her voice is light and doing nothing to hide her amusement at Marcus’ reaction to the situation.

“You need to get dressed, both of you,” Octavia says sternly. “And you,” she says, directing her attention at Marcus, “I hope you’ve prepared a long and inspirational speech for your people, because otherwise you have ten minutes to come up with a damn good explanation as to why you had to kill 364 of your own people.”

At the reminder of what he had done, Abby feels his body tensing beside her.

“It was the right thing to do, but I need you to make them see that,” the girl swiftly adds, her tone reassuring when she notices the look of pain which crosses Marcus’ face.

“They are waiting in the big assembly room down the hallway to the right,” Indra informs, “And you better hurry or they will be starting an uprising.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Marcus looks at Octavia searching for her help when he comes up empty.

“You just do whatever you usually do. Say some bullshit about keeping the peace or whatever,” she offers nonchalantly, already half way out the door. Abby knows this is a sign that the girl trusts him to say the right thing, but beside her, Marcus only grows more anxious. “They are your problem Kane, not mine.” And with that she walks out, leaving the door open as she goes, Indra close behind her.

“What do I say Abby?” his eyes fixed on open the door, “Octavia is right, 364 of our people are dead because of me.”

“You’re not the only one to blame,” she says, her heart heavy with guilt. “I was the one to open the door; to save you at the cost of our people.” She adverts her eyes, when she feels the all-too-familiar sting of tears, no longer able to keep eye contact.

“But you did the right thing, Abby. You saved so many more.” His words are so soft, his eyes so gentle. _What have I done to deserve this? To have this, again?_ she thinks, as a single tear escapes her.

“You did the right thing too.” Her hands come up to rest on his shoulders, “And you’ll find the right words, you always do.”

They are both broken, she knows. This world has thrown at them all that it could, and it has broken them. They’ve been existing as isolated, lonely fragments, but now, _together_ , they’ve begun to mend. They are collecting the thousands of pieces of who they once were, and rebuilding themselves as one. Two broken souls slowly merging, becoming something better. They are not there yet; they have only just begun. They have taken the first step. They are on their way.

 

* * *

 

The sound of people shouting reaches her ears long before they reach the assembly room. Even from a distance it isn’t hard to hear the chaos they are about to witness, and the fact that it’s now up to Marcus to stand in the centre of this and pick up the pieces, so they can begin rebuilding their people is unsettling. She _hates_ that she can’t help him. It’s not in her nature to stand by and watch as others take the reins, especially when it concerns Marcus. But all she can do is give his hand a reassuring squeeze to let him know that she believes in him, even if he doesn’t himself.

They are nearing the door when he suddenly stops, her shoulder bumping lightly into his back at his abrupt halt.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers, his breath lightly caressing her ear as he leans in.

“Why are we stopping?” Indra’s voice comes from behind them, cutting through the noise from the room in front of them.

“Just give us a moment.” Abby glances back catching her gaze and shaking her head slightly trying to tell her to be patient and wait. Indra gives a curt nod and places an arm in front of Octavia who seemed ready to protest.

“Come,” she says tightening her grip on his hand as she drags him towards a door on the opposite side of the hallway. She leads him through the door into a luckily empty room and closes it behind her.

“This isn’t your fault,” she starts, “You didn’t do this willingly; the world was ending, and you saved us.” She has to make him see that he is the best leader they could ever hope for, that the people will listen to him, but his slouching shoulders tell her that he doesn’t believe a word of what she’s saying.

“Abby, there are children in there and I just condemned their parents to death! I didn’t save anyone,” he protests, his voice breaks and his head bent in defeat. She reaches up and takes his face in her hands, running her thumbs along his features.

“You didn’t have a choice. You did what was best for our people,” she reminds him.

“I killed 364 of our people! How can that be what’s best?” He stumbles backwards, away from her touch as if the tips of her fingers have suddenly burned his skin. “And that was only yesterday! Before that I sent 320 people to their death because I refused to see the world as it was and not as I wanted it to be!”

At the mention of the Culling her head snaps up.

“Marcus, you can’t do this to yourself -,” she starts but is interrupted.

“I have taken part in too many executions to count and I never even flinched. Not once!”

She knows what he’s saying isn’t true, knows that he can name every single person he has seen flung out into space and she _knows_ that each and every one of them has haunted him in his sleep ever since they died, but he doesn’t remember that in this moment. He doesn’t remember his remorse.  All he remembers now, is sentencing people to death and watching them die.

“They might call Clarke _Wanheda_ for what she did at Mount Weather, for killing all the Mountain Men, but her actions _pale_ in comparison to all that I have done, all the _death_ I have brought upon my _own_ people!” He’s fuming, all the anger he can muster is radiating from him as if he is literally burning inside. But it is not directed at her, he soaks it all back up and lets it consume him and cloud his brain. His body is trembling and tense to the point of breaking, his eyes are locked on hers filled with his anger, but underneath she sees the crushing sadness threatening to overcome him. She sees the tears that are blurring his vision, tears which he is too stubborn to let fall from his eyes. She can’t bear to see him like this, to see him continuously punish himself for all the things that went wrong and for every life that has been lost. But what’s worse is the fact that he can’t see what she sees; he can’t see how much he’s changed since then, what a _good_ man he has become, and it breaks her heart.

“Marcus.” Her voice is soft, gently breaking the tense silence that was filling the room.

“What have I done?” he mutters.

At that she closes the distance between them and pulls him into her arms. As soon as their bodies meet she feels him slump against her, his head settling in the crook of her neck as he begins to shake.

“Do better today than you did yesterday,” she whispers into his hair, her hands soothingly rubbing his back, “That’s what you told Bellamy and it’s what I’m telling you now. You’ve made mistakes, we all have, but this was not one of them.” She is trying her best to make him see what she sees. “This was the _only_ way to save our people and you’re right, it wasn’t a _good_ way.” She lifts his head, her hands cupping his cheeks.

“Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose. And it doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t make you _evil_. It means you’re human, living in a messy world where nothing is perfect, and _nothing_ is easy.” She plants a soft kiss on his cheek, then rests her forehead against his.

“You are the only person who can make our people see reason. I believe in you Marcus, but you need to believe in yourself too.”

“I can’t, I don’t know how,” he whispers, “I need you.”

“You are a good man Marcus, I didn’t make you that, you did that yourself. Now go, be the leader our people need.”

“Thank you.” He lingers in her embrace for a moment, then pulls away clearing his throat. He still looks uncertain, but she can see him building up his walls, slowly stitching together a perfect façade fit for the Chancellor of the Sky People. She gives his shoulders a squeeze as he moves passed her to open the door.

“Thank you for your patience,” he says to the group of grounders waiting in the hallway, no trace of their previous exchange in his voice or on his face. Abby’s eyes scan the group, not sure if they heard their conversation. She catches Indra’s gaze, but finds only worry and confusion in her eyes. She gives her a small reassuring nod. _It’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay_ , she thinks. Then, without hesitation, Marcus pushes the doors to the assembly hall open and steps inside, she follows not far behind.

The room is huge, the ceiling high above them. Along half of the wall are tall stands with enough seats to hold at least a thousand people and probably more. The seats are all empty. Their people are standing in the middle of the room, their agitated voices reverberating against the bare concrete walls. The group looks so small and as her eyes scan her surroundings, they inevitably land on the hundreds of vacant seats. It is as if they are mocking her, screaming at her with the voices of those who had to die for them to survive.

Abby’s gaze drifts to Marcus, the pained expression on his face tells her that he too is overly aware of the number of empty seats. She wants to go to him, give his hand a squeeze and let him draw strength from her, but the group of Sky People has noticed their presence and suddenly the room falls dead silent. In front of her, Marcus falters slightly in his step before clearing his throat. Disregarding the podium behind them he moves to stand face to face with their people, looking them in the eye.

“I’m sorry we kept you waiting,” he says.

Silence.

Abby’s eyes scan the crowd. She sees the red, tearstained eyes, angry brows and tense shoulders. Her eyes find Jackson who is standing passively at the edge of the group, his arms wrapped around Nathan Miller. She can’t see the Nathan’s face, but his shoulders are visibly shaking in Jackson’s grasp. Abby lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She knew Jackson would be alive, but she had needed to see his face. He catches her gaze and sends her a pleading look but there is nothing she can do, it is up to Marcus now.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” Marcus speaks beside her, a hint of the man he used to be strains his voice.

“It didn’t just _happen_. You did this!” A strong voice emerges from the crowd, but Abby can’t quite pinpoint who it came from.

“I wish it hadn’t come to this and I wish that no human should ever face the choices that we have faced,” his voice is clear but fierce emotion is rooted deep within his words. “We were faced with nothing but unacceptable choices,” he takes a deep breath, “but even if the only choices you have are bad ones you still have to choose.” Hearing her words coming from his mouth feels like an invisible hand wrapping around her heart; they fall from his lips with a certainty she hasn’t seen in him since before Pike became Chancellor. She hopes he believes them.

“The choice that was made was horrible, but it was the only choice we had if we were going to save our people. Any other choice and we would all be dead.” He lets his words echo through the room.

“We could have fought!” Another voice rises from the group of people. This time Abby finds the owner, a young woman from Farm Station; her hair is a mess and her eyes blood-shot from crying. “Instead you threw my father out to die.”

Abby watches as Marcus’ controlled façade slips for just a second as the words sink in. He remains silent for a moment, throwing Abby a nervous glance. She sends him a smile and hopes it comes across as reassuring. It’s not much she can do, but it appears to give him the courage to speak up again.

“I know we have suffered terrible loses, but so have the grounders. We do not deserve to live, any more than they do,” his gaze slides over the crowd as he makes eye contact with each and every one of them. “This is the world we live in now and we can do nothing to change that. In five years’ time we will return to the ground but until then, we are dependent on each other. This bunker holds 1100 people that are all doing their best to keep the peace. We have to do the same.”

“And what if we don’t? What will happen then? Will you kill us like you killed the others? That seems to be your magical solution to everything!” A man chimes in, around him people begin to mumble in agreement. They can’t let their people rally each other up like this, he has to make them see reason.

Abby looks to Marcus. He’s doing his best but every word he says is countered. _Maybe he doesn’t have to do this alone,_ she thinks and takes a deep breath. In two long strides she is standing beside him giving his hand a firm squeeze then, she speaks.

“Listen,” she says straining her voice in an attempt to convey the remains of the authority she once held. To her relief the room falls silent. “We have been at war ever since we landed but now we have a chance at peace, _real peace_. The Grounders see that. They have accepted that we are stuck in this bunker for the next five years, so why don’t we do the same? There is nothing any of us can do about what has already happened, but what we _can_ do is accept the new circumstances of our lives and let these next five years be years of peace. We can’t let anger and sadness cloud our minds. Let us take the first step towards unity. No us or them, no Grounders or Sky People. We are all humans, we are all the same, let’s start acting like it.” She readies herself for their arguments, but the room remains quiet, save for the occasional sniffle.

“Doctor Griffin is right,” Marcus starts again, “We _must_ overcome our differences and move towards peace and unity. We must learn to live together, to eat together and work together otherwise we don’t have a fighting chance at surviving the coming years.” Abby notices his fingers reach up to take off the Chancellor’s pin which is fastened to his collar. “We don’t need a Chancellor anymore. We will answer to the Commander of the new coalition; _Octavia_ _kom Wonkru_.”

Octavia, who’s been standing silently by the doors through all of this, comes to stand at Marcus’ other side, her eyes meeting his and giving away a brief flicker of uncertainty at the responsibility he just placed upon her shoulders.

“Please take this,” Marcus says quietly, holding the small pin between his fingers.

With a curt nod, she holds out her hand and he drops the pin in her palm, then she turns to face the crowd.

“If you wish to live in this bunker, this is how to do it,” she begins to explain. “The grounders answer to me and so will you. Kane can remain your ambassador to represent you at meetings, if you wish?” She glances back at Marcus who gives her a confirming nod.

“We are _Wonkru_ now. We will face what comes next as _one_.” Her voice is steady with an underlying authority Abby hasn’t before seen in the girl.

“Unity is the only way we survive.” She ends with such finality that Abby can feel it settle in everyone in the room. Then the girl turns on her heels headed for the door and leaving a loaded silence behind her. It is clear that their future is no longer up for discussion; it now lies in the hands of Octavia Blake, and she is no longer hiding under the floorboards.

Abby stands still for a second watching as the reality of their situation becomes apparent to everyone in the room. Nervously she gauges the different reactions in the crowd; grief, fear, anger but ultimately ending in acceptance.

When she feels Marcus leave her side she follows, as do their people.

“What now?” Abby asks as they make their way down the hallway. Octavia might be the one who’s supposed to lead them all, but she suspects that Marcus won’t let the girl do all the work on her own.

“I need to find Indra and Octavia. There is a lot of work to be done before everyone can get settled in. The bunker has been deserted for a hundred years and it shows, we need to make sure it will keep out the radiation,” he pauses for a moment, hesitating before he speaks again, “Maybe it would be best if you went back to the room and got some rest?” She stops, crosses her arms over her chest and waits for him to turn around.

“That’s not going to happen Marcus. I want to help, and I don’t need rest.” He meets her gaze, his eyes filled with worry. The look on his face sparks a surge of guilt in her chest but she doesn’t want his concern, not right now. She straightens her back and does her best to conceal the whirlwind of emotion that she feels stir up inside her.

”If this is about what Raven said I… I’m -”

“Don’t say you’re fine Abby, you’re not!” He cuts her off before she can get the words out herself. “You need to talk to me, please,” he begs her. His hand comes up to cup her face and she is powerless to do anything but welcome his touch. “I don’t know what is wrong with you but if anything happens to you, I… Please, just take it easy until we get things settled.”

Tears well up in her eyes at his words – _he’s begging her_ – but she’s not yet ready to let him win and not at all ready to face the possibility that he might be right.

Before she has the chance to tell him that she doesn’t need rest and that he has no reason to worry – _which of course is a lie, but she’s not in the mood to have that conversation now, in the middle of a crowded hallway_ – she hears her name being called out.

She turns her head to see Jackson zig-zagging his way towards her. He looks exhausted, but she can see the curve of a smile grazing his lips as his eyes finally find her own. She glances back at Marcus, knowing he isn’t done talking but not caring because she is, for now. Then turns just in time to meet Jackson in a crushing embrace.

“Abby,” he says her name again but this time his voice is light with relief. She holds him tightly to her as she rests her chin on his shoulder letting herself be held by the young man whom she has come to consider family.

“Are you okay?” Jackson says as he takes a step back, his worried eyes scanning her face for any sign that she’s in pain.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she answers clearing her throat to regain her composure. She doesn’t miss the way Jackson locks eyes with Marcus, seemingly not believing her either.

“I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me,” she says making eye contact with both of them, “but if you don’t need me at the meeting with Indra and Octavia I’m sure they could use my help preparing the medical facilities.” She eyes Marcus, daring him to object, but he doesn’t.

“I never said we didn’t need you.” He lets out a defeated sigh that tells her he has dropped the topic of her well-being for now. Knowing this, she lets her face soften as she takes a step closer to him.

“I know, but I think I’ll be of more use in Medical,” she says sending Jackson a questioning look which he answers with a slight nod.

“Yeah, okay… Just…” he takes a deep breath, “Just don’t overwork yourself, please?” He phrases it as a question giving her the freedom to decide and she is grateful for that, even if he’ll clearly only accept one answer.

“I won’t,” she reassures him while looking him directly in the eye. She gives his forearm a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t break eye contact and she can see how he’s silently begging her to take it easy.

“I promise, okay?” she says, feeling the need to ease his worries.

His eyes briefly close, before he gives a small nod and takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” he finally says. He and Jackson share a look; a brief, wordless conversation fuelled by mutual care and concern for her. _Seemingly, babysitting me is the one thing they can agree on_ , she thinks with a slight smile. Marcus moves to leave, but not before making her promise to take it easy one more time. Then, he disappears down the hall in the direction of Cadogan’s office, which is acting as a temporary meeting room for the Commander and her ambassadors.

 

* * *

 

 The walk to Medical passes in silence but she doesn’t miss how Jackson’s eyes seem to stay fixed on her rather than the path ahead. He’s trying to be discreet, but she can see the worried look in his eyes and she knows that he won’t be as easy to convince as Marcus were, because Jackson has the advantage of knowing how decidedly _not_ fine she is. And naturally, as soon as the door to Medical closes behind them, he speaks.

“You need to tell him Abby.” The look in Jackson’s eyes is the same concerned look she has seen in Marcus’. But that look is the exact reason she can’t tell him. She can’t bear to tell him that he saved her, only to watch her die.

“I can’t,” she says, her voice strained as she tries to hide the emotions that are twisting in her chest. The thought of Marcus having to watch as she wastes away is enough to bring tears to her eyes for the second time that day.

“He deserves to know Abby, you know he does. And he can’t help you if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.”

“You’re right he can’t help me,” her voice cracks in frustration and anger as her heart starts beating faster in her chest. “He can’t help me, and neither can you, because I can’t _be_ helped!” Tears that are unwilling to be held back fall from her eyes, but she pays them no mind.

“Raven found a cure, Abby it’s -” he starts but she cuts him off.

“I know! And she was going to bring it back with her when they returned from the Becca’s lab, but they aren’t coming back Jackson!” She is fighting hard to keep her façade up, but as soon as her next words fall from her mouth it crumbles. “They aren’t coming back.” Her words fill the room and settles like a thick fog enveloping her as the hard truth of them sets in.

" _I'm going to die_." Tears now run freely from her tired eyes. "Someone else could have been saved." She takes a shaking breath. _Yet another has died because of me_. She can feel her thoughts stumbling down the dark pit she has fought so hard to keep covered, but this time she does nothing to stop them.

"Abby…"

Jackson's gentle voice barely reaches her ears but the hand he places on her shoulder makes her eyes snap up to find his face. What she sees doesn’t make sense. She can see the tears filling his eyes, but they are not quite spilling over. His eyes aren't big and sad like she had expected, instead she finds the tiniest of crinkles forming at their corners. She even notices his lips faintly quirk upwards in what could almost be called a smile.

_Why on earth would he smile?_

She is puzzled at the look on his face, her mouth falling ever so slightly open as she tries to make sense of the next words her ears pick up.

"You are not going to die Abby. I've got the procedure. We can cure you." He huffs the softest laugh as he watches her process the information he has just given her.

"Jackson, I don't understand…" she trails off. "How… How is that even possible?"

"Raven sent the instructions before the connection was lost." He smiles, "Did you really think she wouldn't think to do that? Did you seriously think she would forget about you? If there is one thing that girl knows how to do, it's thinking of all the things the rest of us tend to forget in the chaos."

Abby stands stock still. She's speechless. The tears have stopped flowing and her shoulders have ceased shaking. She's frozen in place, not even blinking. When she doesn't say anything, Jackson starts again.

"Abby, we can cure you. You will be alright. You will see Clarke again!"

At the mention of her daughter's name she staggers, her hand reaching behind her to find something to brace herself against. Her hand flails frantically in mid-air but doesn't find anything to hold on to. Her knees are shaking. She can feel herself start to lose her balance, but before she falls Jackson’s hands find her shoulders and he slowly lowers her to sit on the floor.

_Clarke._

She had given up all hope of ever seeing her daughter again. Not knowing where she was, if she was safe; it had broken something inside her. Not just the fact that she had no way of knowing if Clarke and the others had made it safely to space, but knowing she wouldn't live to find out, that she wouldn't live to see her daughter again. She thought she had made her peace with it when she originally made the decision to stay outside the bunker, but the relief washing over her in this moment is telling her otherwise.  

They sit on the floor for a while, Jackson tentatively wrapping his arms around her. He doesn't say anything, just lets her take the time she needs to wrap her mind around the _future_ that she now has.

"Jackson?" she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt. "Thank you. _So much._ "

She hugs him tightly before slipping out of his embrace.

"Thank Kane for not letting you do something rash," he says with a soft smile.

Her assistant’s newfound acceptance of Marcus brings a fresh bout of tears to her eyes, but this time they are accompanied by a smile.

“I will. Thank you.” She wipes her eyes and clears her throat, then she rises and Jackson follows.

Looking around the room she realises the amount of work that needs to be done before anyone can be treated in the bunker’s medical facilities. There are boxes everywhere. Almost every flat surface, save the few square metres of floor right in front of the main door, is littered with plastic crates; big and small. At first glance it all seems to be quite the mess to sort through, but every box is neatly labelled, so it’s really just a matter of finding the right spot in the cabinets for the contents.

“These are only the essentials,” Jackson says, a smile audibly clinging to his next words. “There is a storage room through there,” he points to two doors in the far-left corner of the big room, “It’s a complete mess but from what I saw it should have what we need. And I didn’t even have enough time to go through all of it. Some of the medicine is outdated but they did pack for a hundred-year slumber party down here so some of it should still be good for the next couple of years.”

They both set to work in the main room first, unpacking boxes and arranging the supplies on shelves and in drawers and cabinets. The first few minutes pass in comfortable silence, but in the back of Abby’s mind a thought is refusing to leave her alone.

“You said you had the cure – that Raven sent you the instructions for the procedure, but you never told me what exactly that entails?” He lets her words hang in the air for a few seconds before responding, which does nothing to calm the nagging feeling in her chest that is telling her she isn’t saved just yet.

“It’s not an easy procedure, Abby, but we’ll get through it – you’ll get through it.” He is trying to spare her, she knows, but right now what she needs is to know what she is up against. She has been given a second chance and damn her if she isn’t going to take it.

“Jackson,” she says with a determined voice, “I need to know.”

And so, he recounts the details of the procedure; the tank, stopping her heart, starting it again, her chances of survival. And Abby listens in silence, absorbing the information, playing the scenario out in her head.

“I know Raven is younger and therefore had a higher likelihood of survival, but you won’t be alone. I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong,” he reassures her.

A million thoughts cross her mind in the moments before she regains the ability to form words; worries, everything that could possibly go wrong – which, admittedly, is quite an extensive list – and the thought that the hope she has just been given might all be for nothing. She can almost see Marcus’ face lighting up as she tells him about the cure, only to watch as his hopes are crushed when she tells him that she might not be strong enough to make it through. The guilt of having taken a spot in the bunker only to waste it washes over her again. She can feel her newfound hope beginning to slip through her fingers while she desperately tries not to let everything overwhelm her. So, she finds her last ounce of stubbornness, and with a deep inhale she clings to the fragile yet unyielding ember that is still burning in her chest.

“I-, I didn’t expect it to be easy…” she trails off and takes another deep breath before continuing, “I have to believe I can survive this.” Fierce determination shines in her eyes. Believing is easier said than done but her stubbornness has never failed her, and she is not going to let it do so now.

“You will,” Jackson says, not a trace of doubt in his voice. “If anyone can make it through this, it’s you.” He sends her a comforting smile, his unwavering faith in her makes her heart swell. Knowing that he believes she can do this makes it easier for her to believe it herself.

She gives him a grateful nod, then finally, she returns her attention towards the medical supplies she was in the middle of unpacking.

 

 

 


	3. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the hits and kudos and COMMENTS! I'm am completely blown away by all of the amazing and lovely feedback you have given. It is keeping me motivated and inspired to know that you guys enjoy it, you are truly the most amazing fandom I have ever had the privilege of being a part of! Thank you!

The halls of the bunker are silent and empty as Marcus makes his way back to his and Abby’s room.  Since the bunker has no windows they rely on an automated lighting system to tell them when it’s day and when it’s night. It’s hard to get used to this again. The lighting during the day seems too bright and sharp, while the lighting during the night seems too dark and sombre; like something is lurking in the shadows.

The first day in the bunker turned out to be a long and exhausting one for Marcus. Not that he hadn’t expected that life in the bunker would be hard – he’d spent enough time with the Grounders to know that all the clans living together peacefully in a confined space wasn’t going to be an easy task to accomplish, especially not when Skaikru was one of those clans.

The meeting he’d had with Octavia and the Grounder ambassadors that morning had hardly been a success. Most of the Grounder clans seemed to have some kind of hostile history with at least one other clan, which didn’t make his job any easier. Apparently, old habits die hard – even if you are all that is left of the human race. And though he had felt his talks of peace and cooperation had fallen on deaf ears, at least he could find some kind of comfort in the fact that nobody had been severely hurt or killed, _yet_.

In addition to the Grounders’ tension-filled history with each other, their collective contempt towards Skaikru seemed to have reached an all-time high; the fact that Skaikru had tried to claim the bunker for themselves had not gone unnoticed by the clans, and the fact that Skaikru ultimately had chosen to open the bunker didn’t appear to lessen the betrayal. It doesn’t help that on top of this, Skaikru are the only ones who know how to operate the bunker. On one hand, it means that the Grounders depend on Skaikru, which very well might be the reason they haven’t simply killed them all. But on the other hand, it also means that the Grounders have no choice but to let Skaikru take the lead in running the bunker. Which is precisely the one thing the Grounders aren’t willing to do, namely taking orders from a Sky person.

Luckily, Octavia had shown immense strength and truly appeared to have their undiminished respect as their Commander. In no way had that come as a surprise to Marcus. The girl had a fierceness to her that Marcus could only describe as a warrior’s spirit, and it seemed to incite the same kind of respect and admiration in the Grounders as it did in him.

The meeting had been long and frustrating, but in truth, it had been far less draining than having to spend the following _hours_ listening to Thelonious going over all the things in the bunker which needed to get repaired, if they wanted to have any hope of surviving the next five years. Peace was one thing, but if the bunker failed to keep the radiation out, it wouldn’t matter if they were fighting each other or not; they would all be dead instantly.

Life in the bunker was beginning to look a lot like the life they had lead on the Ark. They were back to being locked inside a box, fighting for survival, but this time everything seemed even harder. This time, they weren’t just fighting to stay alive in a tin, which was starting to look like it may become their tomb. No, this time everything was different, because this time they’d had a taste of freedom. They’d survived the ark fall and made it to the ground, they’d learned what the forest and the sea smelled like, they’d learned how the grass and the sand felt beneath their feet; they had been free.

But what was almost worst of all, was the fact that they’d had the opportunity to do better, to be better and to move on from the horrible things they had done, in the name of survival. Now, Marcus doubts they will be able to go back to that way of living. Not without breaking. He wishes, with all his heart, that it won’t be necessary, especially with Octavia at the helm, but he knows the chances are slim, and they haven’t exactly been off to a great start.

His thoughts stop as he reaches their room and sees light coming from under the door.

 _She should be sleeping by now_ , he thinks as he glances at his watch. _Almost 1 am_.

He wipes a hand across his face and takes a deep breath before entering the room.

It takes his eyes a moment to get used to the softly lit room, but as his eyes adjust to the light he realises that Abby isn’t there. A sharp surge of panic flares in his stomach, but it doesn’t last long. Before he has the time to go into full-on panic mode, his ears pick up the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

He lets out a sigh of relief and then moves to open the door to their bathroom. His hand reaches for the doorknob, but he hesitates; he’s not entirely sure what state their relationship is in. He doesn’t know if she has forgiven him, she hasn’t said the words. But then again, she hasn’t done anything to make him think she hasn’t, in fact, she has shown him far more love and forgiveness than he could ever deserve. Still, he lets his hand fall from the doorknob and turns away from the door. Her jacket lies discarded on the bed and her clothes and shoes have been left haphazardly on the floor. He chuckles to himself.

 _Always in a hurry_ , he thinks as he takes in the mess she’s made. He shrugs off his jacket but is careful to hang it on one of the pegs beside the door, then he picks hers up and hangs it beside his. It has barely been 24 hours, but their room already looks like someone has made a home here.

It’s a nice thought; _home_. The idea that they might actually get the opportunity to have something like that here, now, is comforting.

He begins picking up her clothes and folding them nicely before placing them on a chair. _They really need to get the laundry room up and running_ , he thinks. _Everything is dirty!_

The mess reminds him of their days in Polis. Their room in the tower had been much bigger than this one and finding their clothes in the morning had almost become its own kind of hide and seek. During those days, everything had been so new and exciting, and their time had been running out, so they had seen no point in going slow. Compared to then, five years in a bunker suddenly seems like such a long time: Enough time to take it slow; to explore and learn every inch of each other's bodies.

"You're back," Abby's voice breaks him out of his reverie.

He turns, and sees her standing by the bathroom door wearing nothing but one of the grey t-shirts from the bunker. Judging by the size of it, it was probably meant for a man. The shirt hangs loosely around her curves ending mid-thigh and the fabric is doing nothing to conceal her nipples, hardened by the cool air. She is gently combining her fingers through her damp hair as she gives him a questioning look, a seductive smile on her lips.

"Uh, yeah," he stutters, "The meeting with Thelonious dragged out a bit, sorry." He looks at her. _She doesn't look sick_ , he thinks, in fact, she looks far from it.

 _She looks breath-taking_.

He swallows. "I thought you'd be asleep by now," he admits, "Is something wrong?"

"I was waiting for you to get back... Jackson talked some sense into me," she explains hesitantly, and suddenly her teasing demeanour is gone.

“I’m so sorry Marcus. I should have told you, I should’ve…,” she trails off, “I’m sorry.”

When he hears her voice break on her last word he goes to her.

“It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay.” His hand gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze as he tries to reassure her. “Just talk to me, _please_.”

She nods almost imperceptibly and with a hand on her back she lets him lead her to sit on the bed. When they’re settled down, side by side, on the edge of the bed he lays a hand on top of hers and brings his other hand to cup her cheek. Gently, he urges her to look him in the eyes. “Talk to me Abby.”

She gives him a small nod and takes a few calming breaths.

He waits patiently for her to begin.

“I’m sick Marcus.”

A deep breath.

“Very sick.”

Her voice is thick with emotion, and she has to take another breath to calm herself. Marcus doesn’t dare to talk, he just gives her hand a reassuring squeeze and hopes that she finds the courage to continue. Eventually, she does.

“When they used the EMP to get ALIE out of Raven’s head, she warned them it would cause brain damage. They thought it was ALIE’s final attempt at stopping them from removing the chip, so naturally, they didn’t believe her. They used the EMP on Raven anyway and Clarke then used the same EMP on me. It turned out ALIE was right.” Her hand absentmindedly reaches for the back of her neck, where he knows she is still marked by the device.

“But Raven found a cure,” he interjects, “She said you could be cured too.” His eyes are desperately searching hers for an answer, for any sign that there is still hope.

“She did.”

“That’s good.” He breathes out in relief, but notices that Abby doesn’t look like someone who has just found out she can be cured. “What is it? You have the cure…” And then he realises; _Raven isn’t here_. Bellamy and Clarke were supposed to bring her back, but they never made it. “Abby, please tell me that you have the cure.”

“We do,” she assures him, “We do, that’s not the problem.” She looks away from his worried eyes, and takes another deep breath as she tries to find the right words to say. She knows that no matter how she says it, her next words are going to take away whatever small amount of hope he’s still holding onto.

“But I’m not sure that I’m strong enough to survive it,” she admits, still adverting her eyes, because she can’t bear to bring herself to watch when he realises that she still can’t be helped.

She hears him let out a breath, and she feels her heart sink. She wishes he’d never had to be subjected to this cruel form of torture; watching helplessly as she slowly dies. Beside her, Marcus freezes for a moment as he wraps his mind around her words. Then, without a warning, his hands fly to cup her cheeks and he crashes his lips to hers.

His kiss is desperate and messy, and honestly, quite clumsy because he can’t seem to stop smiling. And now, it’s Abby’s turn to freeze. She doesn’t really return his kiss and when he breaks away she is looking at him as if he had just sprouted a second head.

“Marcus, I- I don’t understand, what-” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“ _Of course, you’re strong enough,_ ” he says, his eyes insistent. “Abby, you’re the strongest person I have ever known. You can do this.”

“So much could go wrong, Marcus, I don’t think you-,” she stops when he simply shakes his head and holds her head more firmly to stop her from shaking. There’s something in the way he’s looking at her that completely undoes her, and she feels tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

“You can do this,” he repeats resolutely.

“How do you know?” Her voice is trembling. He can see that she doesn’t believe his words and he might not be able to convince her entirely, but he knows exactly what to say. He’s been there before, and she was right there beside him then.

“ _Let’s call it_ _hope._ ”

He can clearly see the moment she realises what he’s saying, and what it means; it’s his turn to take care of her now, and he will.

 For a moment she just looks at him, then she leans in and tenderly presses her lips to his. The kiss is slow and gentle, her soft lips finding his as she tries to show him the gratitude her words cannot express.

“I love you,” she says as she pulls back to rest her forehead against his. His breath catches in his throat when he hears the words fall from her lips with such ease. It’s not the first time he has heard these words – and not a single bone in his body doubts their honesty – but somehow his mind has not yet fathomed how this stunning, intelligent woman could possibly love him. Maybe, a part of him never will, but regardless of his own insecurities, he will make sure that she is loved the way she deserves to be loved; unconditionally.

“I love you,” he breathes in response.

At that she slowly rises from her spot beside him and straddles his lap instead. 

"Then show me," she challenges, her voice low and seductive.

And so, he does. His mouth finds hers again, his hands clutching the back of her thighs pulling her body closer against him. She eagerly deepens the kiss as she tangles her fingers in his hair.

Usually, it’s a battle for dominance, but this time she freely lets him take control. He breaks the kiss to trail wet, hot kisses down her neck, which elicits a contented sigh from her. The sigh turns into a low moan when he briefly stops to suck at her pulse point. Her hips grind against his in response, prompting a sharp intake of breath, which fills his nostrils with the sweet scent of her, mixed with the clean smell of soap.

Marcus continues his trail across her collarbone but is stopped when he reaches the fabric of her grey shirt. His hands quickly find the hem and pulls it over her head. As soon as the shirt hits the floor - _suddenly, all his cares for a tidy room have vanished_ – his attention returns to the _goddess_ in front of him. He stops for a moment to really take in the sight of her; her bare chest steadily rising and falling, her breasts full and round, her nipples dark, hardened peaks _begging_ for him to take them in his mouth – _she’s absolutely beautiful._

“We haven’t got all night.” She laughs at his sudden halt. Her words make him turn his attention to her face, where an equally stunning view greets him. Framing her face, her hair is already a wild mess off caramel coloured waves now that her hair is dry, but what makes his heart swell in his chest is her smile. _She’s smiling_ , and it’s the kind of smile that takes hold of her entire face, the kind of smile that you probably aren’t even aware of yourself, it’s just there, because you are too happy to do anything but smile. There are still tears clinging to the corners of her eyes, but they only make her look more beautiful; she’s happy in spite of her tears, she’s not completely broken. And he smiles too – _how could he not?_ – as his hand brushes a stray curl from her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers reverently before he leans closer to take one of her hardened nipples into his mouth. He feels her shudder against his lips and can’t help but smile; he knows he’s being overly ardent, but he can’t bring himself to care. A soft moan escapes her lips when he takes her nipple between his teeth and gives it a gentle tug and suddenly, his slow pace isn’t enough. She arches her back in an attempt to chase the feeling, which causes a delicious friction against his groin and sends sparks of pleasure along his spine.

He feels himself lose control to her movements, so he settles his hands on her thigh and back and flips them over so she’s lying flat on her back. The movement turns out clumsier than he intended, and earns him another giggle.

“One would think we’d be better at this by now, but-” He stops her teasing with a fervent kiss. One of his hands finds her breast, teasingly thumbing her nipple, and the other grabs her ass as he attempts to make their position on the bed more comfortable. His mouth leaves hers and he begins to make his way down her body. He places gentle kisses along her jaw and down her throat, stopping to suck at her pulse point. A tender tug on his hair causes him to pull back.

“What?” he says, looking at her quizzically.

“I can’t very well walk around the bunker with a scarf for no reason,” she reminds him, “And there’s no way in hell I’m walking around with a glaringly obvious hickey – it would scar Jackson for life, Octavia too probably.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to get creative,” he responds with a sly smile and suddenly his mouth is sucking hard on the skin beneath her left breast. He can feel her squirm and giggle, but his hands are holding her down and he stays right where he is.

When he finally breaks away from her – _after a good while longer than what would have been strictly necessary_ – he can already see the purple mark begin to form on her tanned skin.

“Mine,” he whispers and continues his trail down her body.

She rolls her eyes fondly at that and prepares a witty comeback, but her mind goes completely blank when he presses a kiss just above her hip bone, and she feels his fingers curl around the waistband of her panties.

He begins slowly dragging them down her legs, _too slowly_ , and she squirms in an attempt to urge him to get them off her faster. He slides them past her knee, still infuriatingly slowly, but when she moves her leg trying to nudge them off herself, he stills her movements by pressing a hot kiss to her inner thigh. When her underwear is removed and discarded haphazardly somewhere on the floor, he begins a trail of leisurely kisses up her leg and towards her core.

She’s writhing beneath him, her body flushed and aching for him to reach his destination. He stops just before he reaches her centre, so close that she feels the ghost of his breath against her. She buries her hands in his hair and is just about to give up and give him a nudge in the right direction when she finally feels his tongue dart out and taste her.

A gasp falls from her parted lips and a shudder moves through her body as he begins with long, slow strokes of his tongue. Her hands stay in his hair giving it a slight tug which elicits a low groan from him. The vibrations of his voice feel delicious against her, but she needs more. She arches her back and tries to chase the sensation.

“ _Marcus. More._ ”

She barely manages to get the words out, and they end up sounding more like a breathy whimper than she would have liked. She sounds desperate – which she is, but there’s no need to give him the satisfaction of knowing _exactly_ what he’s doing to her, yet.

She feels him smile against her; the friction from his beard on her drawing another moan from her. He alternates between slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue against her clit, and slowly, he slips first one then two fingers into her wetness. As he grows more urgent, the scratchy sensation of his beard, combined with the flicks of his tongue and his fingers curling deep inside her, stokes the fire boiling in her bones. One of her hands untangles itself from his hair to reach up and caress one of her breasts and soon she begins to feel the waves of her orgasm rise up inside her.

With a hard suck to her sensitive nub he sends her over the edge. He feels her muscles clench around his fingers and the taste of her wetness fills his mouth.

“ _Marcus,_ ” she gasps as she slowly comes down from her high. She tugs at his hair pulling him up, until he lies on top of her, their faces barely an inch apart. “ _God_ I’ve missed you,” she says with a low satisfied voice and a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

“Are you sure it’s _me_ that you’ve missed?” he asks and matches her smirk with one of his own, “And not just my-”

“Oh just shut up and kiss me.”

And with that she surges up to capture his lips with her own, to which he happily responds by fervently pushing her back into the mattress. His tongue traces the line of her bottom lip before she opens her mouth slightly and their tongues meet. She tastes the traces of herself in his kiss, and she grows even more eager; her legs bend and wrap themselves around his thighs while her hands claw at his back. A disgruntled groan escapes her at the feel of the coarse fabric of his clothes against her skin, and she begins to impatiently tug at his shirt.

“Why are you still fully clothed?” she says between busing kisses.

“Sorry, but my attentions were elsewhere.” He gives her an infuriatingly sexy smirk which sends all-new thrills through her body.

“Can’t fault you on that.”

She pushes him back, so she can pull the shirt over his head and then proceeds to fumble with his belt. It doesn’t take much shuffling and tugging before his clothes join hers on the floor. Finally, there is nothing separating them; no painful distance or threat, no more barriers, now there’s only the feel of the other’s warm, sweaty skin and the sound of their hearts beating out a rhythm that is uniquely theirs.

He lets out a low groan when she eagerly reaches a hand between them and wraps her deft fingers around his length. Her thumb runs across the sensitive tip of his hot, hard cock making him drop his head to nuzzle in her neck, while he begins to trail sloppy kisses down neck and along her collarbone. He lets the sensations of her touches roll through his body and cloud his mind with desire.

With her hand she guides him to her entrance. A contented sigh leaves their lips in unison when he is finally inside her, buried to the hilt. Her heat envelops him and the weight of him, hot and heavy, filling her leaves them breathless for a moment. This precious moment. It’s been months since the last time, back when everything had been new and exciting and tragic. Back when they had been given just nine days – a cruel taste of what life could be if the world wasn’t crumbling into dust around them – before the fight for survival had pulled them apart. Now, they have been granted the one thing they’ve never had; _time_. Time to take it slow, to enjoy and to familiarise themselves with each other’s bodies.

He wants to go slow, he really does, and at first, he almost succeeds. He sets a steady rhythm; his body rising and falling, his movements not yet becoming the frantic, lust-driven fumbles his primal instincts are screaming for. He buries himself deep inside her and indulges in the feel of her; the warm, familiar wetness, her small panting body beneath him and her strong limbs that wrap around his waist and shoulders pulling him impossibly closer. But when her hips rise off the bed to meet his, when the angle changes and his thrusts become deeper still, when she lets out a gasp, almost closer to a whimper, his self-control dissipates.

Suddenly, nothing in the world seems as important as hearing her make that noise again, or feeling her nails dig into his skin in response. His movements grow firmer and his thrusts faster as his mind focuses on just one thing: her, now, writhing beneath him. Almost as a reward, his change in pace elicits a whole new stream of sounds from her; breathless gasps of “ _yes”_ and “ _more”_ are interrupted by soft moans and a series of “ _oh’_ s”. He won’t last much longer. His muscles have grown taut and the familiar tingle of pleasure is spreading from the base of his spine. He increases his pace and disentangles his hand from her hair, moving it to where their bodies are joined.

Just a moment after his deft fingers find her clit she clenches around him. And she _screams_ ; high-pitched and unrestrained. He feels as the wave of her orgasm swells and crashes; her muscles tightening, her eyes rolling back in her head before she shuts them tight. With two final thrusts he follows suit, emptying himself inside her in a climax just as intense as hers. His body shudders, and his head drops to her chest in a half-hearted attempt to brace himself, so he doesn’t collapse on top of her.

When he has caught his breath, he looks up to find her big, dark eyes looking down at him. He looks at her, just looks, gets lost in the deep, brown depths. His breathing slows, and he raises his hand to wipe a stray strand of hair from her forehead. After a moment he makes a move to withdraw himself from her, but she tightens her arms around him.

“Not yet,” she mumbles, “Please. Stay a bit longer.”

So, he does.

They are warm and sweaty and breathless, but most importantly, they are together. They lie there, in each other’s arms, safe and content for the first time in what feels like an eternity. When he finally rolls off her he doesn’t stray far from her side; his arms wrap around her body, his face nuzzles into her messy hair as he holds her close.

For a moment she’s sure he’s fallen asleep right then and there, and she wouldn’t blame him, he’s had a long day, but she can feel the faint vibrations of his voice as he mumbles something into her hair.

“What?” she whispers when she can’t make out his words.

“You’re going be okay.” His voice is drowsy, he’s probably half-asleep already. She tries to turn in his grasp wanting to make sure that he’s lying as comfortably as she is, but his grip around her tightens and he pulls her a little closer.

“Goodnight Abby,” he mumbles, and this time, he does fall asleep.

She doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

He is faintly aware that her side of the bed is empty, when he slowly begins to stir. He has no idea what time it is, but judging by the fact that he woke up naturally and not because of his alarm, it must still be pretty early. His body however, feels like it has gotten its first good night’s sleep in months – which probably isn’t wrong.

As the haze of sleep slowly dissipates from his mind, he opens his eyes to find the room bathed in a dim golden glow. The light is coming from the lamp which is placed beside the small couch in the corner of the room. He squints his eyes as he turns them toward the light. There, wrapped in a blanket, sits Abby curled up into a tiny ball and with a book in her hand.

He looks at her. She hasn’t noticed that he’s awake yet, so he just takes the time to study her. Her hair is still a mess, the only sign of their prior activities. She’s slipped the t-shirt back on, covering the love bites he knows he has left on her skin. She looks ethereal in the soft lighting, but what ultimately captures his attention are the black glasses which are resting elegantly on her nose. He hasn’t seen her with glasses since the Ark. Back when he would waltz into her office in medical at unreasonable hours to pick up reports, for the sole purpose of seeing her frustrated frown when he interrupted her work. _How far they’ve come_ , he thinks fondly.

“Where did those come from?” he asks softly, trying not to startle her. It doesn’t work. Her head snaps around causing her glasses to slide even further down the bridge of her nose and she self-consciously pushes them back up.

“Oh, um, Jackson found them in the medical facilities.” She blushes slightly.

“They look good on you,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips at her bashful reaction.

“Thank you, it’s nice to finally be able to read again.” She huffs a laugh. “Though it’s not exactly the most intriguing reading material,” she says and glances at the book in her hands, “ _The Principles of Human Anatomy_ ” reads the book title.

“Then why don’t you come back to bed?” he asks. A look at the tablet on his bedside table tells him that it’s only been two or so hours since he returned.

_Has she slept at all?_

“Did you get any sleep at all?” He has an inkling that he already knows the answer.

She doesn’t answer.

_That’s a no then._

“Come here,” he beckons, “Give it another try. Please, for me?” He pads her side of the bed and lifts the covers.

She lets out a tired sigh, but closes her book gets up from the couch. She sets the book and her glasses on the desk and pulls her shirt over her head – that is discarded on the floor, where his clothes still lie abandoned – then she lies down beside him.

Once she is settled against him, his arms immediately wrap around her.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to fall asleep,” she admits. “As soon as I try, as soon as I close my eyes, all I can see is the chamber; the man we strapped down, the radiation burns, the black blood spewing from his mouth,” she pauses, “I can’t get it out of my head.” Her voice breaks on the final syllable, as the pain of what she has let herself do surges through her for the hundredth time.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says trying to comfort her, “It’s okay to be haunted by what you had to do, but remember what I said: We will find our humanity again. We have the chance to make sure that the future is better than the past. We will make it work.” He knows that it’s not something you can change overnight, or simply by saying the right words at the right time; it’s a work in progress. But he is determined to help her – and everyone else – find their way back into the light.

She gives him the slightest of nods before turning in his embrace so that her back is pressed against his chest – that way he can’t see the tears rimming her open eyes.

“Hey,” he says planting a gentle kiss on her shoulder, “How about you just try to relax. Just close your eyes and listen to my voice.” He is rubbing soothing circles into her skin and she gives in to the sensation of his touch.

“Okay,” she whispers with a hoarse voice.

Marcus begins to speak. His voice is calm and impossibly low and soothing. She lets out a deep breath.

“Try to focus on the feeling of your body against the mattress, the covers around you.” He pauses for a moment as the words sink in. “Don’t try to fall asleep, just try to let your body rest. Calm your breathing and focus on my voice.” He continues to caress back in a soothing pattern. “Focus on my touch, I’m right here beside you”.

As he speaks she begins to feel her limbs growing heavy and her mind foggy. His words fade out and he begins to hum as her body slowly relaxes, not a specific melody just soft tones resonating in his chest. The vibrations of his soft voice join his soft caress and she gives herself up to the sensations. After a couple of minutes, she falls asleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you feel like it, please leave a comment? (This is basically me being super insecure about this chapter because it's the first smut I've ever written, and I just really hope that I did the characters justice and that it wasn't too cringy...)


	4. A Stutter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this took way longer to write than I anticipated... I'm sorry for the long wait, as a consolation gift this chapter is the longest one yet. Hope you enjoy ;)
> 
> Chapter title inspired by "A Stutter" by Ólafur Arnalds
> 
> (Just to be safe: Slight trigger warning for claustrophobia and anxiety attacks)

Waking up next to Abby, naked and still sleeping peacefully beside him, was something Marcus would never get used to. The moment is almost magical; the fog of sleep slowly lifting from his brain, as his senses begin to wake up one by one.

First, he feels the warm weight of her body pressed against his; their legs tangled beneath the sheets, her arm draped over his middle. Then, as he turns his head towards her and takes a deep breath, her smell fills his nostrils and he allows himself to snuggle closer, relishing in her scent. Finally, his ears pick up the faint sound of her steady breathing as it flows through her body with the calm rise and fall of her chest.

He lies there, with his eyes still closed, and lets his senses be enveloped by _her_. He lets himself have this moment of serenity before he slowly opens his eyes.

The room is covered in complete darkness, but as the blackness gradually fades and he grows used to lack of light her silhouette takes shape before him. Her face is no more than a couple of inches from his and he can feel the soothing brush of her breath graze his skin and mingle with his own.

As if she senses his eyes on her, her lids flutter slightly but don’t quite open. His arm instinctively reach out for her exposed back and he lets a gentle hand run along her spine. As his hand naturally drifts lower, her soft skin is replaced by the rough bumps of scar tissue which tell the story of their complicated past; of the many times he was wrong and she was right, of who they were and where they come from, but ultimately, the small, round scars tell the story of a woman, full of determination and fire and the will to do what was right, no matter the consequences.

“Morning,” she mumbles, the sound of her voice muffled by the pillow she has buried her face in. His hand halts on her lower back.

“Good morning.”

“I didn’t hear the alarm. What time is it?”

He reaches blindly behind him fumbling in the dark until he finally locates the tablet on the bedside table.

_*BEEP BEEP, BEEP BEEP*_

The sound of their alarm blares through the room, and he nearly drops the tablet as he is startled by the loud noise. The bright light from the device cuts uncomfortably into his eyes and it takes him a good while before he manages to turn the dreadful thing off.

“I guess that answers your question,” he says as he places the tablet back on the table and turns on the light.

When he turns back to Abby he finds her with her face buried in the mattress and her pillow pressed tightly over her head. She mumbles something though he has no chance of making out the words. He laughs tenderly before lifting the pillow from her.

“You can’t possibly expect me to understand what you just said.”

“And you can’t expect me to live through five years of waking up to _that_ noise,” she grumbles, her face still buried in the mattress.

“I would gladly be awoken by that every morning for the next five years, if it means I get to wake up in _a_ _real bed_ next to you.”

She props herself up on her elbows attempting to roll her eyes at him, but the bright light that now fills the room forces her to squint rather adorably at him instead. He leans in to press a kiss to the top of her head, then he slides out from beneath the covers and begins picking his discarded clothes up from the floor.

“What’s the plan for today?” She asks from her comfortable place on the bed.

Her question stops him briefly in his tracks towards the bathroom.

“I uhm…” he hesitates, because the truth is, he doesn’t even know himself. He has no idea how to do what needs to be done to get everyone to live together, _in peace_ , for the next five years.

“It depends on how much chaos has risen over night,” he replies, half-jokingly. “You’ll be needed in Medical, I presume?” he inquires, hoping she’ll go along with the change of subject. Not that he doesn’t want to talk about their plans for the future in the bunker, they just don’t have those plans yet and the situation is far too complicated to wrap your head around at this hour.

There’s a short pause before she speaks.

“Yes. Jackson, he…,” she falters and takes a deep breath before she says the words which will take her one step closer to what she fears most. “He wants to do a brain scan, in an hour, so we can begin to prepare for the procedure.” The words fall hurriedly off her tongue but when they’re out, it’s as if they refuse to dissipate, instead, they hang heavy in the air like a palpable, suffocating presence. 

Her brain is yet another obstacle which stands in the way of their future; one that has the power to completely steal it away. But, he reminds himself, as opposed to the challenge the grounder clans present, this problem is something they _have_ a solution to. Just not one which is guaranteed to succeed.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks tentatively.

“You don’t have to-, I mean… If you want to?” She avoids his eyes as she speaks, which is a poor attempt at disguising how nervous she is. Her voice drifts off and she takes another deep breath to calm herself.

“Yes,” she corrects, her voice is almost steady, but when her eyes finally lock onto his, they speak volumes of her insecurities. “Please.”

“Of course,” he says, without the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice. “Abby, I told you, you didn’t have to do this alone. I’m here.”

She nods slightly. “I know that.”

A pause.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

“I’m right here,” he repeats as he leans across the bed to press a feather-light kiss to her lips. 

 

* * *

 

Becca’s lab had been stocked with all kinds of state-of-the-art technology, but the bunker provides no such luxury. Where Raven had been fortunate enough to wear a portable scanner, Abby now stands in front of a daunting piece of machinery. The MRI scanner in front of them is huge and sturdy with an uncomfortable-looking cot which is equipped with a thin mattress and what can only be described as a head cage – a contraption of white bars just big enough to encase her head.

Abby feels Marcus’ hand wrap around her shoulder and give it a light squeeze. She immediately leans in to his embrace, but only for a moment before she takes a step back.

“I’m going to go get changed,” she says, her voice resolute. She knows well that the only way she’s going to get through this is by shutting her brain off and just focus on one simple task at a time: take your clothes off, put on the hospital gown and so on.

Marcus catches her gaze for a second and sends her an encouraging nod before his attention is drawn back to the scanner.

“What exactly is going on with her?” she hears Marcus ask Jackson when she leaves them to go to the bathroom. Before she closes the door behind her, she hears Jackson begin to explain her situation in far more detail than she was capable off the night before, and she can’t help but notice how strained his voice is, or how Marcus does a sharp intake of breath before going completely silent when Jackson starts to explain the damages the EMP has done and will continue to do to her brain.

With a shuddering breath she lets the door slide closed. Every fibre of her being is screaming at her to collapse and give in to the threatening pricking of tears she feels behind her lids, but she steels herself and tightens her grip around the material of the hospital gown. Then, with the kind of mechanical nonchalance that comes with being used to getting in and out of scrubs, she undresses.

However, the moment she’s changed into the hospital gown it is as if everything suddenly becomes too real. Up until this point, the sickness hasn’t been something you were able to see; did she look a little more tired than usual? Yes. Was the tremor in her hand more severe than what she should be able to blame on the usual stress? Also, yes. But in all respects, those had been minor changes which she had been able to cover up quick excuses. But now, as she glances at herself in the bathroom mirror, all those minor changes suddenly seem glaringly obvious.

Looking at herself in the mirror feels like looking twenty years into the future.

Abby lifts her hand to rest against her cheek which feels oddly hollow and sunken in. The skin beneath her palm is dry –  almost as if she can feel the life slowly seeping from her. She halts for a moment, her eyes widen slightly, and her jaw falls slack as she realises that that is, in fact, what is happening, what has been happening to her for the past month. But she only allows herself a brief moment of worry before she, once again, takes a deep breath and tries to push her distraught emotions back down and lock them away in that place, deep inside her, which has come to hold so many memories, so many actions, she wishes had never come to pass. She tears her eyes from her reflection and walks to the door.

The moment she pulls the door open she’s faced with something she hadn’t thought she would live to see: Eric Jackson comforting Marcus Kane. Marcus is standing with his head bent, pinching the bridge of his nose, and in front of him stands Jackson, with his arm gently resting on Marcus’ shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The sight of them standing closer than she’s ever seen them before – at least if you don’t count the numerous times Jackson has had to actively step between the two of them, in order to stop them from jumping down each other’s throats – stirs the barely constrained chaos of her feelings, _again_. Jackson looks up at her and she catches a brief pained glint in his eyes before she turns her attention to Marcus, who lifts his head and straightens his back before meeting her gaze. She sees how he struggles to shut his emotions down as well, how he clenches his jaw and looks down to hide the fact that his once kind, brown eyes now have turned sad and are brimming with tears he will not shed.

She wants so badly to be strong, for his sake as well as her own, and for Jackson too, but everything is slowly piling up and she’s not sure if she’ll be able to continue like this for much longer.

“Abby,” Marcus starts, his voice wavers and ultimately, his fragility is what gives her the strength to push everything down, again.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him before taking his shaking hand in her own. “Really, I am. Let’s just get this over with.”

His eyes search hers and she is sure he sees right through her, but in the end, he nods as if he too accepts the fact that they too must find the strength to get through this, both of them, and the only way to do that is to have hope.

Jackson shuffles beside them and moves to the door to the MRI room.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says calmly.

With a final squeeze of Marcus hand, she releases him and walks through the door with Jackson.

Once she’s in the room her eyes immediately find Marcus on the other side of the window in the wall, his hands nervously moving against his beard as he attempts a reassuring smile, although it turns out more of a grimace. Then, they land on the daunting machine in the middle of the small room, or rather, on the compact casing which is designed to hold her head.

The memory of a tight leather strap around her throat flares in her mind and her breath catches in her throat. White walls are replaced with murky concrete and the solid, white light of the bunker suddenly seems to dim and flicker. Her heart is racing, breath coming out in short, constrained gasps. She’s frozen in place, hands shaking and straining against the non-existent leather cuffs constricting the movement of her wrists. A sting of sharp pain shoots through her leg.

A gasp.

Blood is rushing through her ears. She faintly hears Marcus’ muffled voice as if it’s coming from somewhere else. She can’t breathe. She can’t move. Her body is standing freely, albeit unsteadily, in the MRI room hundreds of feet underground, but her mind is trapped inside Mt. Weather, strapped to a hard metal table, the sickening sensation of drill piercing bone drowning out her screams.

Firm hands grab her shoulders causing her eyes to fly open, but she doesn’t really see anything, just a blurry shape blocking her field of view.

“Abby!” The voice is muffled and muted but somehow her mind connects the sounds with that of her name.

“Abby look at me.” Her eyes are flitting franticly. _Why can’t she see?_ “Listen to me.” The voice continues. The hands move from her shoulder to her head, holding it in place. “ _Breathe._ ”

She blinks furiously, trying to clear the tears from her eyes. She is still trembling, her breath still laboured.

“Just breathe.”

As the tears begin to silently fall from her eyes, the soft features of Jackson’s face begin to take shape. “Breathe with me, come on,” he says, his voice becoming clearer with each word that he says. “Breathe in.” He takes a deep breath and she does her best to follow. “And out.” Her breath is stuttering, coming out in puffs rather than one slow, controlled breath, but as the air leaves her body and she attempts another deep inhale, she feels her body relax, if only slightly.

Jackson continues to breathe slowly, giving her a rhythm to follow, and as she gradually returns to her senses, she hears him muttering a quiet mantra of “It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay”.

By the time she feels like herself again, she is too exhausted to do anything but let Jackson lead her to sit on the cot of the machine.

“We don’t have to do this right now, if you don’t want to, but Abby,” he pauses and gives her shoulder a light squeeze. “We _have_ to scan your brain.”

She gives a tired nod in response. “Just get it over with,” she repeats, though this time with a far less convincing tone. The young man gives her hand a final squeeze before stepping back so she can arrange herself on the cot.

With her eyes resolutely closed, she lies back with her head in the plastic contraption. Her mind is still racing a mile a minute and her breathing is somewhat erratic, but her body is too exhausted to put up a fight, all it manages to muster is a small flinch when she hears the sound of Jackson securing the head casing around her and she feels the cot begin to slide further in to the machine.

For some 20 minutes she sees nothing but the back of her eyelids while loud, inconsistent banging noises surround her, but she does her best to let herself go, to not feel time passing but simply exist in this moment until it’s finally over.

And eventually it is.

The noises stop, the cot slides out of the machine and her head is freed from the confines. She only dares to open her eyes again once Jackson has helped her back into a sitting position. Everything in the MRI room is white walls and bright lights so naturally her eyes seeks out the window where she can see Marcus standing in the dimmed lights of Medical; his arms wrapped around his torso, one holding the other, a hand absentmindedly moving to his clenched jaw as they lock eyes.

She attempts a smile and though she is sure it doesn’t reach here eyes she sees him visibly relax. She might not be able to trick him into thinking that she’s okay, but it seems he’s still able to draw comfort from seeing her at least try to be. And perhaps that’s how it should be. As much as she wants to shield him from the nightmare she is facing, she knows that he would never be able to let her face this alone.

His words echo in her mind: “ _We’re in this together._ ” Even then – what feels like a lifetime ago – those words had been rooted in something deeper than just a co-leadership. And she had known then, from the way he’d held her gaze as his fingers wrapped around hers enclosing the small pin within her grasp. She had felt it, but she had in no way or form dared to let herself truly comprehend the weight of his sentiment.

With somewhat unsteady legs, she pushes herself from the cot. The cold floor against her feet is a welcome sensation that calls her mind back to the present and sends shivers up her legs and down her spine. And slowly, it grounds her once again.

“It will take a couple of minutes before the results are ready,” Jackson says, mainly just to break the silence which has fallen. Abby nods and then moves to open the door, not wanting to spend any longer in that room.

“I’m just going to…” She points through the door and towards the pile of clothing which lies discarded on a counter. She needs to get out of this garment.

“It’ll only take a minute,” she says and moves towards the bathroom before either Jackson or Marcus has the chance to say anything in response.

When she is changed back into her own clothes – and a grey lab coat as well, as a kind of armour she supposes – she feels more put together. Looking in the mirror once again, the tired, fragile expression still haven’t left her features but being out of the “patient’s clothes” has done a remarkable difference.

When she emerges from the bathroom she finds Jackson and Marcus standing close again. Though their intense gazes find her as soon as she steps into the room; big, serious eyes regarding her.

“Just tell me,” she addresses Jackson.

_Right now, I could really do with a sarcastic remark from Raven to ease the tension of the room_ , she thinks. The younger woman had gone through all of this with her spirit intact and that’s exactly what Abby needs to believe that she can do too, but after everything that’s happened, she feels nothing but exhaustion when thinking about what’s to come.

Her line of thought must have been evident on her face because she feels Marcus’ arms wrap around her, pressing her gently to his chest. He only holds her there for a short while before taking a step back. Though he remains closely behind her as Jackson clears his throat. A treacherous part of her is grateful that her back is turned towards him, that way she will not have to watch his reaction to whatever bad news that is undoubtfully coming.

“Whatever the EMP did to your brain, it seems to be spreading, though there is no indication that it’s liked to the gas,” Jackson announces with a deep breath. “The damage is mainly concentrated around the occipital lobe and the cerebellum, but if we don’t halt the development it is likely it will begin to affect other parts of your brain as well.”

Abby nods slowly. “So, we need to perform the procedure as soon as possible,” she clarifies. “That’s nothing new.”

“No,” Jackson concedes, “but Abby, until we’re ready for that you need to take it easy.” His words come out as a plea, but she lets it go unanswered. That earns her a sigh from the younger man.

“Abby.” He says her name with a hint of a patronising tone. “The effect of the EMP is significant. You must have experienced an increase in your symptoms. More than what you’ve told me.” He crosses his arms.

Suddenly overly conscious of her trembling hands she wraps her arms tightly around herself, digging her fingers into her sleeved arms.

“The hallucinations have been brief and far between,” she admits. “Nothing serious.”

“Abby are you even hearing what you’re saying? _You’re hallucinating!_ Everything about this is serious.”

His tone of voice strikes her; he’s no longer able to simply stick to calm and collected professionalism, his own worries are beginning to seep through.

“What do we need before we can go through with the procedure then?” she asks defiantly. She knows it’s foolish, but a part of her feels that denial is the only thing that’s keeping her from going completely crazy. _Fake it till you make it,_ she thinks, even though she knows that won’t be enough this time, but damn her if she isn’t going to try right up until the moment she is stood in front of the ice tub.

She can’t help but flex her fingers as uneasiness takes over her body at the thought of that tub, but Marcus’ hand finds hers. She lets him take it even though it means he will feel every tremor that passes through her. She needs his warmth, his strength.

“Well, we need Engineering to make a device capable of sending out a timed, electrical current and then rig it up to the tub I found in the storage.”

_Engineering meaning Jaha_ , Abby thinks, the thought of having to involve him in this mess is not one she welcomes.

“I’ll talk to him,” Marcus says, speaking for the first time in a long while. His blatant avoidance of Jaha’s name tells Abby that he’s as reluctant to ask for his help as she is.

Jackson nods understandingly. “Then there isn’t much else for you to do, for now.”

Before either of them has time to suggest that she retreat back to her and Marcus’ room she quickly states that she’ll be of much more use if she stays with Jackson in Medical.

“I’m a doctor, I know how to take care of myself,” she says at their incredulous looks. “‘Take it easy’ doesn’t have to mean go lie in your bed and stare at the ceiling until you go mad.”

With her eyes resolutely fixed on Jackson’s, she silently dares the young doctor to contradict her, even if he knows full well that she’s right, technically.

“We’ve got a hundred years’ worth of inventory and a whole new computer system to figure out before Medical can start running optimally,” she reminds him. “Don’t say you don’t need help with that.”

“Abby are you sure it’s-” Marcus starts but she gently cuts him off.

“Yes. I can’t just sit around and _wait_ , I need some kind of normality.”

“I know,” he says, his words flowing out on a breath of air, “I know, I just worry about you.”

Instinctively, her hand reaches for his cheek and she runs her fingers lightly across his beard feeling the mix of brisk and soft hairs.

“I know,” she whispers, he bends his head down so close to hers she can feel as the air leaves his lungs in shaky puffs.

Movement at the edge of her peripheral catches her attention, though it is only Jackson busying himself with some supplies, giving them privacy. Her eyes drift back to Marcus’; big and sad, but still holding that insistent stubborn spark.

“You should go, talk to Jaha.”

He nods but doesn’t make any incentive to move. And then suddenly, his hands are holding her head – so small in his big, gentle palms – and his lips brush against hers. Nothing is hurried or hungry, no, it is all soft and patient indulging in the sweet feel of skin-to-skin contact. But then, of course, it is over too soon. He draws back and allows himself a brief moment to rest his forehead against hers.

“I love you.” His voice is low and still carries a slight quiver, yet the words escape him with such ease.

Now it’s her turn to nod as their eyes lock, his expression telling her just how much he _needs_ her to know that. And she does, if there’s one thing she knows, it’s this.

They both take a step back; their moment of intimacy has ended, and they’re needed back in the chaos of the real world.

“I’ll go talk to Jaha,” Marcus sighs, and leaves them to their work in Medical.

 

* * *

 

His head is spinning and it’s hard to focus on finding the way to the room Jaha has been assigned as a makeshift engineering office. The image of Abby, suddenly so small and fragile, in the hospital gown, is stuck in his mind replaying the sight of her shaking, tears falling freely, as Jackson does what he can to get her to relax. That small voice in his head – the one that has been desperately clinging to the hope that _maybe_ there wasn’t anything wrong, _maybe_ she wasn’t sick at all, _maybe_ it was something else – has been completely silenced. It’s no longer whispering, “ _she doesn’t look sick_ ” or “ _it’s all just a mistake_ ”, because it’s not, because she _did_ look sick, she _is_ sick. After seeing her like that he can’t deny what has been right in front of his eyes for so long. And that exact thought sends a stinging jab of pain right to his chest. _How could he have let himself miss this?_ Sure, she had done her best to hide it and to his credit, he had known that _something_ was wrong, but he could have pushed – he _should_ have pushed – for an explanation. But he hadn’t, and he’d have to live with that. But, an insistent voice of reason adds, all hope is not lost; there is something to be done. A cure. He can still fix this – he can still help.

Marcus rounds the final corner and with resolute steps he walks to the door behind which Jaha is undoubtedly in the middle of something _very_ important. He knocks, three times, and then proceeds to open the door before the man inside has any chance to grant him entrance.

“Marcu-”

“I need your help,” he cuts him off before Jaha has time to make one of his sickly comments. The request in itself – asking him for help – is hard enough to pose as it is, but they’re going to need this device made as fast as possible, and though it pains Marcus to admit it, they need his help as the most experienced engineer in the bunker.

“Whatever for?” Jaha asks after a short pause and leans back against the chair he’s sitting in.

_Shit_ , Marcus thinks, he hasn’t really taken the time to come up with an excuse, but he doesn’t want to explain everything that’s going on with Abby, and somehow, he feels that she wouldn’t be too keen on Jaha knowing she’s sick either.

“Marcus?”

He’s taking too long to fabricate an answer.

“I-, Jackson needs an electrical device for Medical.” He settles on something not too far from the truth, but his stuttering still earns him a sceptical glance.

“A device that does what, exactly?”

“Something capable of sending a timed electrical current through water,” Marcus states feeling more at ease as the conversation’s focus shifts to the technical details. “With about the same voltage capacity as a defibrillator.” He hesitates slightly on the last word, the thought of Abby being _dead_ , even if it’s only temporarily, rouses a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Marcus is slightly take aback by how easy convincing Jaha to do this seems to be. “So you’ll make it?”

“Sure.” He eyes Marcus suspiciously. “I’ll see what I can do, once I’m done with the hundreds of things in this ancient bunker that needs fixing,” he says and points to his tablet on which Marcus can scantly discern the beginning of what he supposes is an extensive to-do list.

 “This needs to be top priority,” Marcus declares only for Jaha to let out an indignant huff of laughter.

“Right, well so does half of this list.”

Marcus sighs. _Not that easy then_ , he thinks.

“Look.” Marcus places his hands firmly on the cluttered desk and leans in slightly. “The air scrubbers are working and so are the hydro and nutrition stations, so unless there is a life-threatening problem that I have not been made aware of, I suggest you make this device your number one priority.” His voice is stern and commanding as he does his best to draw upon the unyielding, pragmatic man he had once been – a man who is still very much inside him though he is buried deep.

“Kane,” Jaha says, the use of his last name stinging slightly but also working as confirmation that his change in approach had an effect. “You are not the chancellor anymore. You gave that up when you handed the pin to a _teenager_.” He pauses, his last word dripping with disapproval. Marcus supposes that him handing the pin to Octavia, and thereby officially ending the office of the Skaikru Chancellor, in some way, has taken away any chance Jaha had to win it back.

“Besides,” Jaha speaks again. “One would think that you would want me to prioritise the heating system, for example, over a medical device. But I suppose the rest of us must suffer in order for you to please the sweet doctor.”

The last sentence serves no purpose other than to provoke him, he knows this and yet, he can’t help the anger he feels well up inside him as the man in front of him so freely mocks Abby. _How could he possibly think that Abby would ask anyone to suffer in order for her to get what she wants?_

“It’s for her isn’t it?” His lips curl into a smug smile as Marcus visibly clenches his jaw in an attempt to avoid saying something he’ll regret later. His blood is boiling, and he wants nothing more than to slam his fists into the table – hopefully knocking over some of the _oh so important_ things Jaha has been working on – but he doesn’t. Instead he firmly pushes his anger down with a few deep breaths until he feels he’s capable of speaking in a controlled voice once again.

“Listen,” he says coolly. “How about you have this done _by tomorrow,_ and I’ll make sure you get an extra few hands to help the rest of the engineers with the heating system or whatever you’re working on?”

“And who could possibly be qualified for that? The grounders? I don’t think so,” Jaha counters and Marcus’ hands grip even harder around the edge of the metal table, his knuckles turning white. “I need engineers, Marcus, but apart from Johnson, Dunn and Richards there are none. The rest of them were thrown out to die, on your orders I might add.”

“It was the right thing to do.” Marcus looks him square in the eye and holds his gaze.

“I want the bottle of whiskey from Cadogan’s office,” Jaha says after a minor staring match. Marcus huffs in reaction – _of course he’d be petty enough to make unnecessary demands_ – but is quick to concede. _A small price to pay_ , he thinks.

“Done,” he settles. “But you will have it finished by tomorrow _morning._ ”

“Naturally.”

With nothing more keeping Marcus in Jaha’s company, he makes his way for the door.

“Oh, and give my condolences to Abby, she must be devastated that the kids didn’t make it back,” the man adds making Marcus freeze in the doorway.

“Raven found a way to get them to the Ring, your condolences are not needed.” And with that, he hastily walks out the door.

 

* * *

 

The sound of her office door being opened brings Abby’s thoughts back to the present – she had been trying to log all of the bunker’s inhabitants into the operating system, but she had barely made it through a single clan list (supplied by Indra) before her trembling hands had proven to be too much of a challenge to continue and she had given up – and she looks up over the rim of her new-found glasses to see Jackson enter with a tentative smile.

“You okay?” He says the words with such automaticity, they seem to have become his preferred from of greeting where she is concerned. It’s a question she is growing thoroughly tired of answering, but she grants him a quick smile and a nod in response regardless.

“How are the preparations coming,” she asks hoping to steer the conversation away from the topic of her well-being.

“All done, well, as much as possible until we get the electro-current from Jaha, which by the way, Kane just dropped by to say that it’ll be done tomorrow morning.” _Tomorrow morning._ It hits her hard; less than twenty-four hours and she can be cured, or as her mind can’t help but put it in its half-panicked state: _less than twenty-four hours and she’ll be dead. Hopefully not for long, but there is no way around it – less than twenty-four hours and her heart will be stopped._

“Is he still here?” She extends her neck in an attempt to get a better look through the door and into the main room of Medical, but she can’t seem to find him out there.

“Uh no, he had to go. Something about relieving Nate at one of the workstations.” The young man hesitates. “Do you need help with that?”

She glances down at her nowhere near finished work. “No it’s fine, you should take a break. Go see Nate, get something to eat- Have you eaten anything today at all?”

“I-,” he falters. “No, but neither have you.”

“Marcus brought me my share for lunch, I’m fine,” she lies, full-well knowing that the nutrition block he had brought her had gone to a young boy who had come by Medical with a cut on his arm and a churning stomach. “The boy just lost his father, he needs you.”

“Go!” She adds when Jackson still hesitates. That earns her a small – but still present – smile.

“Promise me you’ll call if something comes up, okay?”

“I will,” she reassures him, and with that affirmation he leaves.

When he has closed the door behind him she returns her attention to the lists in front of her once more. At first, she does nothing but stare at them with a scrutinising glare hoping that, somehow, that will make the hundreds of names magically jump off the page and onto the computer. But sadly, no such luck.

With a stubborn sigh she balls her small hands into tight fists until the shaking begins to fade slightly. Then, she lets them run over the keyboard again. She continues that routine until she’s, finally, through all the lists and the names of the bunker’s inhabitants are neatly sorted in the medical database. Exhausted – even though she really shouldn’t be – she lets her face fall into her palms.

She barely has time to let her eyes slide closed before she’s startled by a loud noise coming from outside her office. She freezes for a moment wanting to be sure that whatever it was it’s not just a figment of her imagination, but not long after she hears the outer door slam closed followed by the sound of metal tools falling to the floor and the sickening, muted thud of a body collapsing.

In one swift movement she rises from her desk and rushes to the door, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

The first thing that greets her when she yanks the door open is the all-too-familiar smell of blood. It assaults her senses and fills her lungs until even the bitterness of iron has spread to her mouth and she bends over gasping violently for air. The smell of it is so strong she dares not open her eyes to see the bloodbath that certainly must be in front off her.

The sound of laboured breathing, however, beckons her attention, and even though she feels close to choking her doctor’s instinct kicks into action. She forces her eyes open quickly assessing the situation: a thick trail of blood leading from the door and to a place behind the countertops where she spots the legs of someone clad in black pants and a pair of black army boots. _Marcus’ boots_ , a voice warns, but it’s not him, _it can’t be._

A pool of blood surrounds the collapsed form and seems to be steadily spreading. _They’re losing too much blood,_ a voice yells in her head and that’s enough to get her feet working again. She storms to the side of the person and collapses the moment those distinctive features come into view.

“ _No_ ,” she gasps and clutches his limp form to her chest, not paying any mind to the blood that soaks through her clothes.

“ _Please no, Marcus?_ ” Her voice is coming out in broken sobs as she presses a teary kiss to his alarmingly cold forehead.

“Marcus,” she cries and sends silent prayers to whatever deity might be listening.

Desperate to do _something,_ she checks for a pulse even though all reason would argue that a person who has lost this amount of blood couldn’t possibly be alive. As she fumbles with his arm, she notices a long gash running through his coalition mark, and when she grabs his other writs he finds a matching one running up that arm.

“Don’t do this to me,” she whispers brokenly as she takes his face in her hands. “Not now.”

Where her hands touch his neck, she feels the opening of yet another wound bleeding profusely. It’s almost as if the touch of her fingers are creating them; everywhere she comes into contact with his skin new cuts open, and though he should definitely be out of blood at this point, it just keeps on flowing; dark, and red, and warm until it covers her clothes and hands. She squeezes her eyes shut trying to block out what’s happening, but she can still feel as the blood leaves his body and covers hers – she can feel as the _life_ drains from his body.

A heart-wrenching scream claws its way through her chest and out her throat with such force she is sure her voice leaves with it, but she doesn’t care. _What does it matter?_

Her trembling arms wrap around his body trying, pathetically, to stop herself from shattering. _What does it matter?_

The shaking intensifies. Slowly, she’s losing any control she might have had over her limbs and she lets the violent convulsions rake through her. Her hands cover her ears as she attempts to shield herself from the painful sound of her own cries, but all that does is smudge the blood even further onto her face and into her hair. _But what does it matter?_

Suddenly, she’s heaving for air, her lungs feeling as though they have collapsed in on themselves. Her instincts urge her hands to claw at her throat – _you need air!_ – but they don’t obey, instead they cramp up, her muscles no longer under her control. She’s faintly aware that she’s collapsed fully onto the floor and is no longer holding Marcus’ cold body in her arms, but she can’t do anything. She’s trapped in her own body as it convulses, and her throat cuts off the flow of air.

Finally, she slips into the black void of unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

“Abby!” Marcus calls out as he wrenches the door open. In an instant he’s at her side, his tablet in his hand pressing the call button for Jackson.

“Medical, now,” he says with an urgent voice before the younger man has any chance to ask what is wrong.

“She’s having a seizure.”


	5. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Adele voice*: This is the end, hold your breath and count to ten… 
> 
> Yup hello welcome to the final chapter! This turned out to be one hell of an angsty chapter, just so you’re warned, but I hope you’ll forgive me and that the pain is worth it in the end.  
> ____  
> Before you read this chapter (or after, it doesn't really matter lol) please go check out Blizzaurus' AMAZING, STUNNING, PERFECT artwork for the ending of the very first chapter, if you haven't seen it already. Find the artwork here: https://twitter.com/100blizzaurus/status/991015253285720069

The sound of his footsteps echoes out a steady, insistent rhythm as Marcus paces the floor of Medical.

He glances at the clock: _One hour and eleven minutes_.

Jackson has long since disappeared to Abby’s and his shared office to do some work, and quite possibly to get away from Marcus’ worried frown and restless wandering. The only sound is that of his own steps.

He had sat at her side for a while, his fingers tracing the lines of her face – lines that now seemed deeper and more pronounced than they had before – but the silence had been suffocating. He couldn’t hear the sound of her breathing but had only the faint rise and fall of her chest to assure him she was still alive. So, he had gotten up, and his limbs had started to move on their own – a slow pace from one end of the room to the other – as his mind still circled around her.

He clenches his fists, takes a deep breath, and looks at the clock again.

 _One hour and seventeen minutes_.

The tightness in his chest grows with every second that passes. It pains him to see her like this; fragile and exhausted, to the point where you can almost _see_ the strength leaving her body with each heaving breath she takes. She looks pale too, sickly so, and as he watches her – oxygen tubes attached to her nose and hair plastered to her sweaty forehead – it’s more evident than ever how sick she has truly become.

It’s taking too long. The effects of the reaper stick should have worn off within the hour, but so far there has been no sign of consciousness. _Why isn’t she waking up?_ She is of small build, he knows that, but still, _it’s been too long,_ and he can’t help but grow more anxious as the time moves forward achingly slowly.

_Tick._

He takes a deep breath.

_Tock._

He looks at her on the bed.

_Tick._

Moves a hand across his face.

_Tock._

Another deep breath.

_Tick._

“Marcus?”

Her voice is so small, so faint, and yet it pierces the silence as if it had been a desperate outcry in the dead of night. His head snaps around to see her moving on the bed, eyes still closed.

“Marcus!” The second time her voice is louder, he takes that as a good sign, but then her eyes fly open and her voice turns desperate.

He’s at her side in an instant, hands settling on her shoulders when she shoots up from the bed unhooking the oxygen tubes. “I’m here, I’m right here,” he reassures her as he tries to get her to lie down again, but she won’t budge. Her eyes are open wide, flitting from his features to where his hands grip her while she continually mutters his name. Before long, she collapses against him, her hands clutching at is shirt.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers into her hair as he settles down on the bed and holds her to his chest. He sits there with her shaking in his arms, rocking her back and forth until she is calm enough to draw back.

She doesn’t move far though, just leans back far enough so that her eyes can lock onto his and her hands cup his cheeks. She looks at him so intently without saying a word, as if to etch every detail of his face into her memory. The act confuses him.

“Abby…” he starts but she silences him when she rests her forehead against his and lets out a relieved breath.

“You’re okay,” she says faintly, like it was really only meant for herself. “You’re okay.” She leans back and though her words weren’t exactly posed as a question, he sees something in her eyes that makes him think she needs him to affirm it.

“I’m okay,” he says with a question of his own written across his face. “Of course, I’m okay, Abby what’s going on?”

“You were-” she halts, her hand reaching out for his arm and pushing his sleeve back to reveal the mark of the 13th clan. She breathes out in relief when she sees it and runs her shaking fingers across the lines.

“The blood, _your_ blood, it was…”

“Abby?” he urges her when her voice trails off yet again, but she shakes her head.

“No. It doesn’t matter, it didn’t happen.”

“You had another hallucination?” His question is no longer spoken in a soft hushed voice, instead his words are loud, his concern filling the air.

He must have been loud enough to alert Jackson in the other room, because the young doctor emerges from the office with worry plastered across his features.

“She only just woke up,” Marcus says hurriedly when he catches the disapproving glance Jackson sends him.

“How are you feeling?” Marcus scoots to the foot of the bed giving Jackson room so he can check up on Abby.

“I’m fine,” she answers. It sounds more like a default response than the actual truth.

“You were out for a long time, Abby. If there is anything-”

“I’ll tell you. Really, Jackson, I’m fine. I bit tired but that’s all.”

The stubbornness of this woman, if not under such serious circumstances, would be impressive.

With a sigh Jackson steps back, “Then at least promise me you’ll try to get some more sleep tonight.” Abby opens her mouth, probably to object, but Marcus cuts her off before she can cause the young man any more grievances.

“She will, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you, Marcus.” Even though it’s clear she doesn’t approve of them speaking as if she wasn’t right there beside them, her annoyed façade falls when she hears the use of his first name. “I’ll be back in the morning,” Jackson pauses, “Everything should be ready then.”

Marcus nods stiffly in affirmation, which seems to be sufficient response for the young doctor.

“Thank you, Eric.” Marcus observes as the young man exchanges a glance with Abby, as if to make sure that she really does get some rest, before he makes his way towards the door leaving them alone again.

They sit in silence at first. Marcus isn’t sure what to say. _Tomorrow, in a few short hours…_ , he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to stop his thoughts, but is without luck when Abby speaks up:

“Marcus, I promise you, I will try, with everything I have, to make it through this,” she whispers clearly having sensed his silent worry. There’s something in her eyes that makes him think all of this is for him rather than for herself; she is worried for him, for what losing her might do to him, far more than she is worried for her own life.

“You will make it through this,” he says. Every last ounce of strength he possesses is spent trying to make his words sound believable, like something he says because he _believes_ them and not just something he says to comfort her.

Her hand lands upon his and gives it a squeeze. A smile grazes her lips, probably meant to be reassuring but the sorrowful tug downwards doesn’t escape his notice.

He moves back up the be and settles beside her. “I don’t just mean this,” he says softly and gestures to the empty glass tub at the other end of the room. “You will be okay again, I promise.”

She adverts her eyes not wanting him to see the tears which have begun to fill them.

“It will take time, I know, but we have time.”

She doesn’t answer.

“You will be okay again.” This time, he draws her into a hug. He knows words are not going to solve this, he knows _he_ can’t solve this, but he can let her know that he will be there every step of the way.

She lets him hold her, lets him whisper comforts into her hair, and run his hands up and down her back. She’s not sure she can find the words to make him understand, not sure if she ever will, so, she lets him hold her until her lids feel heavy and her breathing calm.

“I do love you, Marcus,” she says as she pulls out of his embrace. He wants to say something, but this isn’t a discussion she can have right now, so she shuffles on the bed until there is room enough beside her for him to lie down. “Will you lie with me?” She asks and pads on the bed.

“Of course,” he concedes with a sigh and a soft smile. He removes his shoes but decides to keep on his shit and trousers, just to spare Jackson from any scars should he by chance return to Medical before they woke up.

Though the bed is small and definitely not meant for two, they still manage to find a comfortable position to sleep in; Abby is curled up against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her middle, and their legs tangled together. When his body is finally horizontal, the fatigue hits him hard; he has spent the entire day working and worrying about Abby, and the past hour and a half has been more stressful than he wants to admit. _A mere taste of the suffering he will experience come morning,_ he thinks gloomily. Luckily, the fog of sleep dulls his mind before his thoughts get the chance to torture him further and he slips into the heavy cloak of sleep to the sound and feel of Abby’s steady breathing.

 

* * *

 

The shaking shouldn’t feel new – she’s been shaking for the past month! – but this time it’s not a side effect of the EMP, this time she isn’t shaking because her brain is slowly deteriorating and making her lose control of her body, at least that’s not the only reason she’s shaking. Now, insistent tremors rake through her every limb as a result of the freezing ice water in the tub that, from where she’s sitting, is beginning to feel like something that might all too likely become her coffin.

She’s going into shock; her body shaking violently as a reaction to the cold and it’s becoming hard to breathe, but the firm grip of a hand around hers gives her something to focus on, something to hold onto, until the shok is passed, as the doctor in her knows it will.

“M- Marcus.” Her voice is trembling, she can barely get the syllables past her lips.

Their eyes are locked unto the other’s, has been for several minutes. Neither of them dare to look away. She can see the panic in his eyes – frantic and desperate – speaking volumes of fears he is too afraid to voice. She sees how his mouth opens then closes again as he tries to find the right words. _But what is the right thing to say?_ What do you say to the person you love most when you thought you would have the rest of your lives, but find out all that time might be cut short? What can you possibly say when ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel like it’s enough?

She sees all these worries in his eyes and brings her other shaking hand up to his cheek. Even though her hand is freezing he leans into her touch, even though she is wet and quivering he reaches out for her and draws her close enough so that he can rest his forehead against hers.

“It’s-, it’s going to be-” she begins but the tremor that rakes through her body swallows the end of her sentence.

“It’s-” she tries again, desperate to do something, _anything_ , to ease his mind, but her voice is not cooperating.

He takes a deep breath.

“I-” he starts drawing back just enough so he can see her whole face. “I’m scared to death,” he finally whispers. The worried furrow of his brow and those big sorrowful eyes send a painful jab straight to her heart.

“I can’t bear lose you.” His hand clutch more firmly at her cheek. “I can’t- I-” his voice breaks.

Harnessing every last sliver of strength, she has left she takes his hand and lays it across her chest, right above her heart.

“You won’t,” she mumbles, though she doesn’t believe it herself, she knows that he needs to hear her say it.

It was meant to be reassuring, it really was, but as the shaking subsides everything suddenly feels heavy. His hand slides from her grip. She can barely keep herself above the water.

“I need you by my side,” he says – his voice strained, and his words hushed – as he grips her to prevent her from going under yet.

“This i- isn’t goodb- bye,” she stammers.

Her words are beginning to sound far away even to her own ears. She’s so _tired_. It’s like gravity has increased tenfold and the tub, which until this moment has felt like torture, now seems to be beckoning her to lie down. To rest. To sleep.

She knows she should put the oxygen mask on before she submerges herself, but her limbs are so heavy, when she tries to reach for the mask, her arms barely move an inch. She lets her eyes slide closed – _Just for a moment_ , she thinks – but when she hears Marcus call Jackson over, she can’t find the strength to open them again. She’s safe in Marcus’ strong hands holding her head above the water. She feels the oxygen mask being fastened around her head, and still, she does not open her eyes.

 _Just let me sleep_ , she thinks.

“I love you.” She hear his voice whispering the words into her ear and feels his hand against her cheek. She wants to say it back, wants those three words to be the last he hears, but she can’t move a muscle. It’s hard to breathe with the mask on, or maybe it’s not really the mask at all, but it doesn’t matter. Breathing won’t be necessary for much longer.

She barely feels it when the hands supporting her head disappear and she slides to the bottom of the tub. She doesn’t see the man on the other side of the glass, holding out a hand against the cold pane. She just feels the darkness, the heavy, suffocating darkness that consumes her from all sides – from outside and within – and then, she feels nothing.

 

* * *

 

His hand is pressed to the side of the tub, his eyes are fixed on her. The incessant sound of the heart monitor is filling the otherwise dead-silent room alerting the world that Abigail Griffin is… _No_.

Just 15 minutes. A quarter of an hour, only three times five minutes. He can do this.

 _No_.

He’s frozen in place, crouched beside the tub. His body should be protesting this position, but he doesn’t feel any pain – not the physical kind at least. It is as if all his senses have shut down. He doesn’t feel the ache in his legs, he doesn’t hear the ring of the heart monitor. He doesn’t breathe, he doesn’t blink. He doesn’t even see her, right there in front of him; pale blue and not moving.

A scream, a sob, is stuck in his throat, but he doesn’t let it out. Tears are falling insistently from his eyes, but he doesn’t wipe them away. His body is reacting physically to her death, but in his mind is nothing.

Everything has gone blank, nothing feels real anymore. Inside him is nothing but a white-hot, searing pain and an expanding, all-consuming black hole. 

“Marcus.” Jackson’s voice and the hand he has placed on his shoulder startles him and brings his focus back to the world around him. Suddenly, the sound of the heart monitor is intrusive, overwhelming, and cuts into his ears like a hundred needles all at once. He can’t stand this. He needs to get away, but his eyes are glued to the still form in the tub.

He rises to his feet but stumbles a few steps back. Everything in his body is screaming for him to run, to get away from this room, this sound, this scene.

“I-.” Only a single syllable manages to claw its way out of his constricted throat. With his eyes still fixed on the tub, he staggers backwards until he hits a door with a _thunk._ It’s everything he can do to stay upright.

“I- I’m-.” It’s useless to even attempt to speak, his throat is tied into a knot making it impossible to get even the simplest of words out. Behind him, his hand finds the handle and he pushes the door open.

He is unsteady on his feet as he tumbles backwards through the door, the loss of balance making his head snap away from the tub for the first time and around to look for something to brace himself against. His hands come into contact with the cold, hard metal of a sink and as he regains his balance and raises his head he finds the face of a stranger staring back at him.

With a _click_ the door slides closed, muting the dreadful, incessant ring from the room he just escaped. He adverts his eye from the mirror of the bathroom he has apparently stumbled into and angrily wipes away his tears. His eyes fall on an envelope, neatly placed on a pile of folded clothes. _Her clothes,_ his brain screams and it’s enough to make his eyes water again.

With shaking hands and bated breath, he picks it up only to collapse on the bench beside the clothes when he sees his name written on it. Even though the letters are crooked and uneven it is undoubtedly Abby’s handwriting. A tear lands on the paper smudging the first few letters of his name. He wipes his eyes and curses himself for being so careless.

He knows the content of this envelope, whatever it may be, will cause him pain. He knows her words will rip him open and leave him with a hole inside that only she can fill. But he also knows that she meant for him to find this, to read this, and it can’t possibly hurt him more than he has already been hurt; as much as his pragmatic side hates to admit it, it feels like Abby is dead, forever. He feels the loss of her already, as a palpable piece of himself gone missing, as if a vital part of his being has been torn from him. So, he figures, he has nothing to lose and with trembling hands, he opens the envelope:

 

 

 

> _Marcus_
> 
> _I know that this letter will be a poor rendition of everything that is going on in my head, of all the things I’m feeling and have felt, and of all the things I want to tell you – not simply because I want to say them, but because I need you to hear them, and more importantly, I need you to take them to heart and remember them. I know that you are in a lot of pain right now and it breaks my heart to know that I am the cause of that, but please, promise me that you will understand the weight of my words and that you will believe me, even if I don’t make it, even if I will never be able to say this to your face ever again._
> 
> _I love you, Marcus. I love the kind, empathic man you have kept so tightly sealed within and I love how you have opened yourself up to the world and to the people around you. The man I have watched grow ever since we landed on Earth is the man I fell in love with. I think a part of me has always know he was inside you, but in the end, I saw_ you _exactly when I needed you the most. I was convinced that I had had my chance and that I had lost it. I was so sure that the part of me that was capable of those feelings, the part of me that_ deserved _to feel those feelings, was forever lost to me, but there you were, and I have never in my life been to completely terrified. Suddenly, we were in a foreign land with chaos all around us and somehow the one thing in my life that seemed constant was you. It scared me to death how easily you became such a vital part of my life, how easily you became the one person I could trust with_ anything _, but above all, it scared me how fast I fell in love with you. I wish I could go back and tell myself not to fight it, that way we might have had more time, but at the same time, there is not a single bone in my body that regrets the way things turned out between us. The only regret I have is that our time is being cut so short._
> 
> _If I don’t make it through this, Marcus, I want you to know that I have made my peace with that. I know this might seem like giving up to you – and maybe it is – but I’m tired of fighting, so tired. There are things I’ve had to do that I never imagined myself doing, principles I’ve broken that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for breaking. I can barely recognise the person I’ve become. I fear that I was not made for life on Earth, not like you. At this point, it is so hard for me to see the beauty that I know you see. It is hard for me to see the light. I fear my hope has been traded for darkness, and if that is who I have become then I don’t wish to draw another breath. I don’t want to be consumed by my darkness, I don’t want you to watch as I fade, and I don’t want to see the day when you don’t recognise me either._
> 
> _I know that this will hurt you, and I’m sorry. You have to believe me when I say that that is the furthest from my intention. And trust me when I say that you will be okay, even if I don’t make it you will get through this. More than anything I want you to keep going, no matter what happens, I want you to_ live, _Marcus. I want you to see the day when the door to the bunker is once again open and you can return to the surface. You were always meant to go to Earth, to make a life here, and you will. You, and Octavia, and Bellamy, and Clarke, you were always better suited for this life than I. You are all so strong in your own ways, and I fear you are going to need that strength for what’s to come, whatever it may be, that’s the way of life._
> 
> _It will be hard, I know it will, but Marcus, you_ have _to make it through this, not just for me but for Octavia too. Promise me that you will get through this for her. She needs you. I know it might not seem like it, but she does, now more than ever. Indra will take good care of her, I’m sure, but she is going to need_ you _too. The girl has been through so much and though she might not show it, she loves you like a father. She needs someone to show her the way forward and there is no one better qualified than you._
> 
> _You have come so far from who you used to be. In such a short amount of time, you have grown so much, you have become a man whom I have no doubt your mother would be very proud of. There is so much good in you, so much kindness, and, unlike me, you have an immense strength to retain the light despite the chaos that surrounds us. I admire you so much for that. Never could I have imagined that your stubbornness, which used to drive me insane, could become the thing I treasured most in this world. Your light, your hope, it’s all I have. And though it is small, a part of me is clutching so desperately to the thought that, maybe, somehow, that light can help me find my own again. I want to believe it, with all my heart I want to believe that I can find my hope, for you and for Clarke, but if I can’t, or if this is the end for me, then that’s okay too. Don’t let your light be quenched because of this. Promise that you won’t let that happen, promise me that you will take care of yourself._
> 
> _And take care of Clarke too. I know you would never do anything less, but I needed to write it. If I never see my daughter again, please tell her that her mother loves her, so very much, and that I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. Tell her that she was the best thing to ever happen to me, and to her father. Tell her that I never wanted this life for her, but that I am so proud of the woman she has become regardless. And tell her I meant what I said; there are good guys in this world._
> 
> _I love you, Marcus. May we meet again._

 

As he reads and rereads the final line of the letter, the insistent, crushing pain in his chest – which has been with him ever since her heart stopped – _explodes_. It is a sensation so intense he can barely breathe; he sees nothing through his tear-filled eyes, hears only the sound of blood rushing in his ears, but he feels, oh god does he _feel_. He doesn’t know whether to lash out and break whatever unlucky objects may be in his immediate surroundings until everything around him looks as broken as he feels, or whether to give up, to let the pain, the _unbearable_ pain, shatter his body and soul, and collapse on the floor never to get up.

In the end he does neither. Just as he lets the letter slip from his grasp and buries his face in his hands, a gentle knock on the door beckons his attention.

“The time is almost up,” he hears Jackson say. He looks up to see the young man standing in the doorway, eyes red and rimmed with tears of his own. He glances briefly at Marcus but is quick to return his attention to something in the other room, probably the foreboding timer, counting down the final few minutes until the moment that will determine what kind of future they will be facing.

With an almost imperceptive nod, Marcus lets the doctor know he understands and moments later Jackson is gone from the door, back to Abby’s side.

It takes several deep breaths to get his shaking limbs under control, and even then, his knees feel unsteady as he rises from the bench. As he moves on shaky legs through the door and back into the main room of Medical, the heavy weight of her words become even more evident.

_If I don’t make it through this, I have made my peace with that._

_I’m tired of fighting._

_It is hard for me to see the light._

_I don’t want to see the day when you don’t recognise me either._

_I love you, Marcus._

These are the only words in his head. Their volume increases as he slowly, one step at a time, walks closer to the tub, to _her_. The magnitude of how far she feels she has fallen becoming ever more apparent to him as he watches the time tick away. But beneath his fear, beneath his _pain_ , lies the tiniest spark of hope. He feels it’s presence like the most fickle of flames; the smallest gust of wind and it will disappear forever. _But it’s there_. As much as her words, and the realisation of what they mean, hurt him –  as much as they dig into his soul like torturous incisions knowing exactly how to cause him the most pain – they also fuel that flame. Step by step, tick by tick. _If_ she survives, _if_ she makes it through this, _if_ she is not as gone as he feels her to be, the flame inside him is ready to burn bright enough for the both of them. He is ready to fight for her and help her fight for herself. He is ready to help her see the light, to make sure that the day will come when she will be able to see herself as the strong, resilient, _good_ person that she is. He will help her find her hope again, like she has helped him countless times in the past.

_Ten._

But the flame inside him is still fragile.

_Nine._

It’s a fickle game.

_Eight._

Between life and death.

_Seven._

Hope and despair.

_Six._

One fateful moment.

_Five._

To determine the rest of his life.

_Four._

Balancing on a knife’s edge.

_Three._

This moment.

_Two._

Will life, will hope _,_ win out?

_One._

 

* * *

 

Light bursts within her. Sparks create tiny explosions beneath her skin. Her nerve endings are alight with the flutter of electricity. _Life_ floods her body.

With a violent jolt she surges upwards, her eyes blown wide, her lungs heaving for breath. Panic is setting in. She’s tangled up in all kinds of wires, a mask is covering her face, and she is _so cold_.

The moment she becomes aware of her surroundings she feels her consciousness begin to fade, but strong hands grab her, and she feels the mask being pulled off her face.

She’s shivering. _So cold._ Breath coming out in inconsistent puffs.

She’s clinging to the firm figure beside her. Though she cannot make out the face through her blurry vision, she doesn’t need to. She knows that voice all too well. The words are lost on her, but the soft, melodic sound of Marcus’ voice is so very familiar to her ears that she doesn’t need to understand. He’s here. He’s right here.

 

* * *

 

“Put her on the bed!” There is urgency in the young doctor’s voice but not enough to cover the insurmountable amount of relief that washed over him the second Abby woke up. Though he is reluctant to let her slip from his grasp, Marcus slowly lowers her body onto the bed which is covered with a heated blanket.

He can do nothing but collapse on the chair beside her, his eyes trained on her face and his hands firmly holding hers. Jackson is working in careful, practiced movements, covering her with another heated blanket and hooking her up to an IV with some kind of warm fluid to bring down her hypothermia. All the while Marcus sits stock-still at her side, not daring even to breathe. All he can focus on is her – her open mouth sucking in air, her fluttering eyes fighting to remain open – and the consistent beeps of the heart monitor. In that moment he cannot think of a more beautiful sound. Her heartbeat is not stable yet, _but it is there._

“Marcus,” she gasps, her hands reaching for him.

“I’m here.”

“I made it.” The surprise in her voice is a palpable presence; she really didn’t think she was going to make it. But there is also relief, and though it is short-lived, her brief relief at being _alive_ gives him hope.

“You made it,” he echoes reverently as he presses a tender kiss to her forehead.

She’s still shivering, the procedure has taken its toll on her, but still a small smile graces her lips. Her lids seem heavy, she can barely keep her eyes open.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “Just relax, just sleep. I’m right here.”

He continues to speak to her in soft tones as her eyes slide closed and she loses consciousness. Their hands are clasped and resting on her chest, that way he can feel her heart still beating. Marcus looks up at Jackson to see a tired smile on his face.

“She needs rest,” he says, “But she’ll be okay. She made it.”

As the words sink in, Marcus feels the immense weight of his worries begin to lighten. _She’s going to be okay._ The flame inside him grows. He lets his lips lightly graze the skin of her hand, it’s damp but also _warm_. The life is returning to her body.

Exhaustion is threatening to overwhelm him. _She’s safe, she’s okay, she made it_. All the worry slipping from his body is leaving him drained, so he settles with his head on the mattress and her hand in his and lets the slow, but finally steady, rise and fall of her chest lull him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Marcus?” Just one word and he’s awake.

“Abby.” He says her name so reverently, so relieved, before he reaches out for her face and watches as she relaxes into the warmth of his touch. She covers his hand on her cheek with her own steady grip. _Steady, no more shaking._ “I told you, you were strong enough.” He cannot deny that he felt her loss, that he feared for her life, but now that she’s awake, and _smiling_ , his steadfast belief in her is returned with newfound vigour.

She sits up, so she can look him in the eye. “I’m glad I was.” Her words do not mean that she has changed her mind, that all the burdens she carried before have vanished, been washed away by the water, but they tell him that she wants to try again, to fight, to overcome this, to heal. And it’s all the reassurance he needs.

The inherent need to have her as close as he possibly can, overwhelms him, but it’s okay, because she’s here, she’s alive, so he rises from the chair and settles on the mattress, pulls her into his arms, and holds her. He feels her warmth mixing with his, feels as his flame begins to burn brighter than it has ever dared.

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair. It’s the only word in his mind: _Love_ , feeding the fire, fuelling his hope. To have her here, to hold her close, is _everything_.

“I love you too,” she murmurs with her face still buried in his chest making him feel the vibrations from her words against him. “And I’m sorry.” She pulls back until they’re only joined at their intertwined fingers. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this. I never meant to- I can’t even imagine…” Her hand reaches for his cheek. She must have seen the pain in his eyes, but the pain isn’t just for himself, for what he has just been through. The pain is also for her; for how much _she_ has been through and for the blame she makes it her duty to carry. She cares so deeply about everyone else, not leaving any room left for herself. Which is probably the point. Marcus has been there, been the person who couldn’t imagine that a person like him could deserve a future, couldn’t imagine how he could possibly repent for the things he had done. But she had shown him the way out of the dark, she had shown him forgiveness and helped him forgive himself, helped him move on. And now he must do the same for her.

“You have nothing to apologise for Abby, _nothing._ I would go through this a thousand times if it meant I get to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Marcus… are you…” she trails off making him backtrack his last sentence. _Oh._ Suddenly he becomes very aware of how he’s holding her hand, how his fingers are brushing her knuckles unconsciously grazing her ring finger.

“I- I didn’t mean… No, I’m not,” he finally says, but after a short pause he adds: “But I will.” The time doesn’t feel right – they’re both exhausted and drained after the emotional roller coaster they have been on – but it will be, in the future there will be a time for such a thing. _The future_ , those words don’t feel as scary now as they did before; now, the words feels like hope, like a promise of time, together, time to work things out, time to heal themselves and others, time to find their way back to their family, time to find their way home. The future will bring a whole new set of challenges for both of them, he knows, but they can weather any storm, as long as they’ve got the other by their side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sniffles* *wipes away tears* I’m really emotional about this fic ending… This was my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic and tbh when I started writing this fic I did not for a second believe that I’d be able to actually finish this… But here it is and I’m so proud of myself for sticking with it (even though it took me way longer to write than it should have, but oh well). Thank from the bottom of my heart for all the amazing comments you guys have left! I never expected to get this much amazing feedback on something I wrote. Your comments have kept me going and kept me motivated to continue this story and I’m forever grateful for all of your kind words!
> 
> Also, a special thanks to Lore (AO3: donnawanderedoff / Tumblr: abbygkane) for helping with the first few chapters, and for just being awesome in general. And to Emilia (Blizzaurus) for bearing with me and listening to my worries through all of this, and most importantly for kicking my ass into gear when I was being lazy ;).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, it has been such a pleasure writing for this fandom (and for these two) and I hope to be back with more fics in the future.
> 
> And as always comments and kudos are treasured greatly <3


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